Deal Breakers and Queen Makers
by LadyRavena
Summary: Complete. A new Assignment on the heels of a disastrous encounter with the Vaagari leads Admiral Mitth'ryl into the unknown territory of the criminal underworld, anarchy and Bounty Bunnies. Review, please.
1. Chapter 1

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter One****: **_**And you say that it's just another day**_

The blackness was pushed back by the faint starlight from distant systems and by the few functioning floodlights along the Imperial Star Destroyer's long structure. The massive ship was coasting at half cruising speed, making its way back to shipyards hidden two systems away from home base.

With a shudder, the shuttle's viewports slid the stars into lines. With a soft, almost unheard sigh, Admiral Mitth'ryl settled fully into the co-pilot's chair.

The pilot snuck one quick glance at the admiral. "She's not as bad as she looks, ma'am," he said diplomatically.

Mitth'ryl raised one slightly battered blue-black eyebrow. "Really, lieutenant? That gaping hole on our starboard side that takes out nearly eight decks isn't 'as bad as it looks'? Or perhaps you refer to the engines that are straining at half cruising speed, unable to go to hyperspace? You certainly aren't referring to the shield generators, which are spread over half a sector, baring ion storms and scavengers?"

"Nothing a few weeks in dock won't fix, Admiral," the pilot said, still civil. "And any mission you come home can be considered somewhat successful."

"I've never quite believed that axiom," she answered, voice abruptly tired. "Yet," she allowed, eyes closing for a moment, "I can't dispute it this time."

"You've arranged leave for the crew on-station while repairs are being made?" he asked after checking a few readings on his board.

"Those that aren't in traction," Mitth'ryl muttered, tracking data on her datapad. Her chief engineer's report was dismal.

"If I may say, Admiral, you should make leave for yourself as well. It has been a long four months," he suggested without emotion and with studied blankness in posture and expression.

She felt a surge of anger at his assumption. She doubted whether he would have mentioned it to the Grand Admiral, if she were him. A man was applauded for stamina; a woman told she was being stubborn. She refused to be coddled by anyone, least of all a jump-start pilot.

"Why, thank you, Healer," she softly hissed. "Shall I comm the Vagaari and ask for a rescheduling of their destruction? And shall I then request they pass along a cease fire to the pirate activity that has been cutting into our shipments along one of our few routes into the Core?"

They passed the rest of the hour-long flight in silence. Mitth'ryl tried to focus on the datapad in front of her, running through deployments and supply runs. Her lines were running thin as it was; another Destroyer out of commission, however long it took to repair the multitude of damage, was something she could ill afford. Her own injuries were still nagging her, wanting her to rest or at least slow down. That one dip in the tanks hadn't really been enough, but there had been too much to do, and men that needed that tank more than she did. She couldn't afford to languish in the med-bay while the ship was liable to fall apart around her. So long as she kept up with the pain suppressants and the anti-inflammatory pills, she should be –

With a start, she looked down at the 'pad's chrono. It was two hours past when she was supposed to have taken the last batch. No wonder her spine felt like a bantha was rolling on her. Taking the small pill box from her pocket, she dry-swallowed the pair, studiously ignoring the slight tremor in her hands.

They had kicked in enough for her not to wince at the landing, or to show how much getting up hurt. And to scale back her short temper enough to speak in civil tones to the quiet pilot.

"Tell me, Lieutenant, what is the first enemy of any command officer?" she asked as she stood.

"Admiral?" the pilot asked, eyes never leaving his board.

"Exhaustion, lieutenant. Although, I must admit that pride isn't far behind," she added ruefully. "Combined, they make a formidable enemy. Thank you for pointing them out. Carry on," she said, and made her way gingerly out onto the hanger deck.

* * *

Standing waiting for her, uniform pressed properly, every line laser straight, Admiral Voss Parck looked every inch like the holo-posters of any aging military leader. Countless holos had been made perfect by casting aging holo-stars that looked like Voss. Stern, yet kindly when at ease. Patient and shrewd, keeping up with everything young officers could throw at him.

Mitth'ryl only hoped she'd still be as quick when she finally reached her seventies.

His eyes were kind as they took stock of her. "Why is it, my dear," he asked with a faint frown, "that today you look like you're the one past retirement age, and not me?"

She raised a battered eyebrow. "If you kept up with your paperwork, you would have already read the briefing about that, Admiral. Your dispatch said that I was needed immediately on-base," she prompted.

"Yes. I had thought you have been fully healed, however. That battle was over a week ago now-"

She cut him off. "The tanks were needed for more critical cases than my own."

"Was that your decision or medical's?"

"What was so urgent that you needed me to return from my ship, and my duties, to this base, which is your duty?" she bit out, eyes narrowed. When she had finally taken command, they had agreed that Voss would remain the 'leader' of the Empire of the Hand, dealing with base matters and Bastion. Mitth'ryl, with all of Thrawn's memories and tactical abilities, would lead the Fleet. Rarely did they need to be on base with the other. Normally a secure comm-conference was all that was needed.

"Yes, well. Three days ago we received visitors from the Ascendancy," Voss began, ushering her into a briefing room off the main hanger bay. He pulled two chairs out, dropping several 'pads onto the table. As Mitth'ryl eased into the chair, Voss pretended not to see her wince. "They hailed us from orbit, asking permission to land a shuttle and talk with us."

"Us?"

"They knew both my name, which isn't surprising, and yours, which is." Voss tapped one 'pad. "I allowed them to come down, fully ready for an official greeting. You would have been proud," he added as an aside.

She sniffed. "You've yet to get a greetings ceremony correct, Voss."

"Well, I _was_ prepared, when another transmission came through asking for a private meeting with no ceremonial attachments. They claimed it was an unofficial, unplanned stop-over and they merely wished to talk with the base commander."

"Unusual."

Voss sniffed. "Quite. They want our help."

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Our help?"

Voss nodded. "They won't give me the details, but have mentioned it has to do with stabilizing the entire area, both inside and outside the Ascendancy borders."

"Indeed?" Intrigued, she leaned forward. "Who is making this unofficial call for help?"

"Chaf'ern'ictrassi."

Mitth'ryl smothered a laugh to save bruised ribs, shaking her head. The Fifth Family, with Chaf'orm'bintrano at its head, had petitioned time and again for her predecessor to be thrown out of the ranks of the CEDF. When those cries began to fall on deaf ears, he began to campaign for Thrawn's exile. No doubt he'd been more than pleased when Thrawn had been sent to trial. For the Fifth Family to be asking for unofficial aid now…

"Indeed?" she mused, shaking her head. "And where is the ambassador?"

"Upstairs in large briefing room."

She nodded, and slowly stood up. "Shall we see what the ambassador would like of us?"

* * *

AN: Just a few spelling changes, and nothing else. FYI, this is finished, and will be posted up in the next two weeks or so.


	2. Chapter 2

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter Two****: **_**And instantly you said you knew that you were the only one I ever need to know.**_

There were muted voices coming from the ornate briefing lounge as Mitth'ryl and Parck made their way up the stairs toward the open doors. Giving a nod to the young ensigns who were on ceremonial guard duty, she passed between them and into the room proper.

The table had been laid out with various confections of both human and Chiss origins, with various drink choices for the delegates. Most of the provisions had yet to be touched by either the diplomatic staff or her own people. Several aides were in attendance, including Waltz, and the ambassador had only brought six guards with him. Still, the room felt empty to the Chiss admiral. It was designed to hold several dozen officers and men. It seemed ludicrous to have used this room, when one of the smaller, more intimate rooms would have done just as well.

The young ambassador stood to one side, arms folded in front of him. The yellow robes hung properly and orderly on his lean form. Neatly styled hair framed a face that managed to be both haughty and overbearing, with just a touch of insecurity in the quick head movements. An older Chiss, grey in his blue-black hair, stood behind him, obviously an aide, dressed in more sombre robes, completely at ease and with perfect composure. No doubt, Mitth'ryl mused to herself, the aide had been mistaken for an ambassador by the unwary.

Parck had stepped forward, no doubt to facilitate introductions. The young Chiss spoke just as Voss drew in a breath.

"I am not interested," he declared, drawing himself to his full height, "in meeting any of your lowly staff. You said that this Admiral Mitth'ryl would be available to discuss this critical mission, yet you've yet to produce this Chiss."

The aide tried to step forward and, no doubt, whisper something in his charge's ear. The ambassador stepped away from him, trying to tower over Voss.

"I was led to believe that this base was devoted to aiding the Chiss people in defending this entire region of space. If you can't even keep track of one Admiral, how do you expect to be of any use?"

The room was silent; the Empire of the Hand personnel from indignation, the Chiss aides from shock, their eyes widening, glancing back and forth between her and the young ambassador. Even Parck glanced at her, silently asking what she wanted to do with this. She shook her head slightly at him, and stepped forward.

"The ambassador obviously has not been on many missions where he is the head of the negotiations," she said quietly, facing the elder aide. His face was familiar from Thrawn's memories…ah! There it was. "But then, that is why Chaf'orm'bintrano sent along his own personal aide. A pleasure to see you once more, Chaf'osh'amgamoc," Mitth'ryl said, stepping forward and offering a bow suitable to a chief aide of an Aristocra of the Fifth Family.

The aide inclined his head slowly, a slightly pained look to his features. "May I present the ambassador of the Fifth Family, Chaf'ern'ictrassi, Admiral?"

Chaf'ern'ictrassi, about to say something else, made a strangled noise deep in his throat.

"Ambassador," Fosham said solemnly, "may I present Admiral Mitth'ryl, admiral of the fleet of the Empire of the Hand."

Mitth'ryl inclined her head, keeping a careful control over her features, while the young Chiss tried several times to swallow his high words.

"Admiral," he managed at last, face an interesting shade of purple.

* * *

Fernic settled himself at the long table across from Admiral Mitth'ryl, his face still slightly flushed, especially around his ears. She made an effort to not stare at the blush, knowing it would only embarrass the agitated Chiss. Blundering theatrics often hid insecurity in the youth of the upper class, Thrawn had noticed, and, she remembered, he had taken great pains to get them away from their caretakers and poke a hole in the histrionics. He hadn't always been successful at avoiding public embarassments, either, but he'd tried.

"The Fifth Family," Fernic began stiffly, "does not have any official knowledge of the actions of myself, or of the crew of the ship under my command. There has been no sanctioning of any visits to this base, or to any discussions we might have while on this base. No one else is with my party, nor will there be any of the Fifth Family ships in reserve for any mission or talks." He drew in a deep breath, and finished with, "I am here on my own initiative in this matter that needs to be resolved."

Mitth'ryl kept her face carefully neutral. She highly doubted that this little speck of an ambassador was even allowed to make lunch plans by himself. This entire meeting stank to the Maw of Chaf'orm'bintrano and his planning schemes. She decided to let it pass, though, and nodded. "I believe that I understand the situation," she said calmly, keeping her face still.

Fernic pulled one of the datapads closer to him, glancing at it once before speaking again. "How much do you know about a certain Chiss named Lord Tha'newlis?"

Mitth'ryl leaned back in the chair. "I know of him, though I never had the displeasure of meeting him," she said. "I seemed to recall that Intelligence had a significant dossier on him for being a troublemaker, rabble-rouser and general annoyance for the local colony governments."

Fernic looked nonplussed for a moment. "I…you recall Intelligence findings from your predecessor's service?"

Mitth'ryl dipped her head slightly, noting the tactful way of his phrasing her relations to the deceased Grand Admiral. "Most; that which I don't is easily replaced with intelligence briefings."

"Oh…of c-course," Fernic stuttered, flicking through a few pages on the datapad. "Well, that is still an accurate description of Tha'newlis. He was also a key suspect in financing several high profile deaths in the Second and Fourth Family, deaths that were pinned on the Chaf Family. As if we would ever condone such loathsome tactics."

"Assassinations were never his trademark before," Mitth'ryl mused, ignoring his indignation. Assassinations were never officially sanctioned or approved of, but if they worked, the family certainly wouldn't back away from any benefits garnered from the other's misfortune. _A pack of high-blood scavengers_, she thought to herself.

"I must add," Fernic said reluctantly, "that he often has legitimate business with several of the more prominent Families on the colony worlds. Businesses such as shipping, cargo storage and acquiring certain materials are the most common."

"Not surprising," Mitth'ryl said, nodding. "One would need a front for one's business deals."

"Three months ago, the Chaf Family was approached by another Family. They had a legitimate contract with Tha'newlis, which we were to take over. The other Family no longer has control over that particular colony. The contract was to include trade route information, and shipping of certain raw products from the colony.

"Since taking over the colony, there has been an increase of rebellious anarchist strikes at government and Family held buildings. There are stirrings amongst the general population, some of them armed. The Chaf Family has been unable to infiltrate the local groups, leading our military leaders to believe that they are being fed inside information."

"You believe you have a leak in your undercover operations?" Mitth'ryl asked, slowly.

"We believe that there are members of the Family that are running their own deals with this criminal."

There was a silence in the room while Mitth'ryl mulled that over. Internal politics were never her preferred forte. From what she understood, this was a matter of an internal inquiry, not something her forces could handle without violating at least a dozen laws. She said as much.

"We have no problem dealing with the family members ourselves," he answered haughtily. "However, we need proof. We need to be there when a deal is struck between these members and the rabble. We need to know what this deal is about; our sources are telling us that it is merely another trading agreement. We suspect that this is another illegal arms deal for the terrorists that have been plaguing the colonies. We can't get into any of these meetings; all of our own people would be instantly recognized, and we will not involve another Family in this matter."

Another Family that could use this as an excuse to rip the Chaf line back down to the commoner status. The politicking was as tiresome back on Csilla as it had been in Palpatine's court. Then again, it could be useful for fostering even unofficial ties with the Ruling Families. There was only so much that the Empire of the Hand could do to stabilize the region without the unspoken cooperation with the Ascendancy.

"You must have trained personnel that can handle this delicately and professionally," Fernic added, starting to sound frazzled at her silence. "If this meeting is mishandled, there is every chance that this agreement will go even farther under the ice."

"I agree with your assessment of a failed insertion of an operative," she said slowly. Perhaps it was the painkillers, but he seemed to dance around making a direct sentence. She was heartily sick of it. "But, I repeat, what is it that the Fifth Family wants us to 'unofficially' do?"

Fernic stared at her unblinkingly. "We _want_ you to apprehend Tha'newlis and the leaders at this meeting. We already have circumstantial proof of which members are involved. All we require of your operative is a list of who is actually in attendance."

"When is this supposed meeting?"

"Nine days from now, on the mining colony of Li'ahn. There is gala that they are using as a smoke-screen for the gathering of forces."

Mitth'ryl nodded and stood slowly. Her own people followed suit; after a moment, Fernic and his retinue rouse behind him. "I will confer with my staff and discover if we have the appropriate resources to deal with this situation. Please give any further intelligence files and information to Admiral Parck. We will talk further when all the data has been analyzed. You and your staff are, of course, welcome to stay on base until such time."

Fernic looked disappointed that she was not about to give him an answer at that very moment, but his face gained its cool demeanour after a heartbeat. "Indeed, but I prefer to return to my ship."

"Ensign Harrington will guide you to your shuttle, Ambassador."

She waited until the group of Chiss had swept out of the room and down the large stairs, followed by most of her own staff, before sinking back into the chair. "Opinions, Admiral?"

Parck shrugged. "It would be no skin off of us to take care of this miscreant. But we need the rest of the intelligence files before anything can be done." Waltz stepped behind him and passed over a datapad, face impassive. One glance at it and he nodded. "In the mean time, there is an appointment for you with a bacta tank. We'll need you at full strength to play jax and mouse."

* * *

Mitth'ryl turned slowly around, tucking the datapad with the final rundown of that afternoon's first meeting with Ambassador Fernic under one arm. Stepping carefully into the turbolift car, she keyed for the med bay levels. The doors were inching their way closed when she heard a welcome voice call out, "Hold!"

A smile spread across her face without thought; the doors just stopped to allow a tall panting Chiss in the car.

"Thanks," Eri'dantae said, leaning against one wall, catching his breath. Dressed in tight-fitting workout clothes, he certainly looked like a weapons and martial arts trainer. Blue-black hair, currently plastered to his head with sweat, framed a perfectly honest and open face. It was a face that was showing its concern as it took stock of the woman he shared both heart and bed with. "Why is it that, after five hours of training sessions with cadets that throw one punch and faint, I look better than you do?"

She nodded unwilling. "My ship saw a bit of action," she admitted, coming closer to him, pressing the stop-hold button on the panel.

He leaned down and kissed her deeply before catching her chin with one hand. He looked her straight in the eyes and said softly, "I missed you, my dear. And nothing in the reports said anything about hand to hand combat occurring."

She raised her chin out of the gentle grip, but he merely moved his hand to cup her cheek. "And I you," she admitted softly, leaning into his touch. "It was more like hand to chair combat," she answered him ruefully, eyes closing.

"I just can't leave you alone, now can I?" he asked, stealing another kiss while keying the resume button on the control panel. "I should find a way to get stationed on your ship," he said softly, watching her wince as the car jerked into motion. "Someone needs to watch your back. I specialize in 'round the clock surveillance," he purred.

"So you can watch, and never touch? Admiral's don't get the night off." They'd had this talk before, and neither had liked the ending. It was for the best, they both knew, that he stay on base, and she with the Fleet. Shore leave came soon enough.

"Survive Vagaari, pirates and two major campaigns to be clobbered by a piece of furniture," he groused, letting the topic drop again.

She jabbed him once in the ribs, stepping backwards toward the doors. "My brave upholsterer."

He laughed once. "You are traveling down to the med bays I presume?" He motioned to the activated button.

She nodded. "Another soak in the tanks, most likely. I have the time while Voss and the Ambassador compare intelligence reports. I don't need to be there for the next while."

"I'll see you afterwards then?" he asked as the doors slowly opened on the correct floor. "Perhaps a minor bout to warm up muscles before this mission really starts?" His eyes, roaming once over her body, put another idea into her mind.

"If you believe you can pin me down," she agreed, and slipped out.

* * *

AN: These look so much longer when you are typing them on Word.


	3. Chapter 3

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter Three****: **_**Time here, all but means nothing / Just shadows that move 'cross the wall**_

_The wailing of the sirens, thin and screeching, was her first warning that something was considerably wrong with the ship. The blinding pain when she tried to move out from under her command chair was her second. Hearing panicky reports, calls off "Admiral down!" and "Return fire!" was her third warning, urging her to awaken fully into the chaos of battle._

_Someone was lifting the heavy command chair off her back, dulling the pain to a mere crippling level. Struggling to open her eyes, she tried to lift herself off the deck, working moisture into her mouth, tasting only the coppery of blood. Hands pressed her back down, probed her injuries with careful hands, with murmured consultations with each other. She focused on them, past the agony rippling down her spine…_

"_Medics can't get up here, the turbolifts aren't coming up."_

"_Several broken ribs, internal bleeding is almost certain. Keep the pressure on that, we need to get the bleeding stopped."_

"_We can take the command lift down."_

"_We can't risk moving her, there could be spinal damage."_

"_The bridge has lost twenty-two percent of its air, ensign. There are perhaps ten of us left. We need to evacuate to the secondary command levels. We can't leave her behind, either."_

_Hurried footsteps, audible even over the continued barrage of weapons fire, stopped just before her head. "Sir, two lift cars are being held. Recommend one team with all injured personnel report to med bay, the other to the command center."_

_Hands rolling her slowly onto her side, sliding something under her, something soft and long…an emergency heat wrap, her brain supplied… wrapping her tightly in the wrap as the hands rolled her over onto her back. Her thin scream stilled the hands, had them quickly rolling her back at least onto her side. _

_The flashes of agony abated enough that she could try to focus again on her crew…the ship, the battle, these were green soldiers, most barely out of final training, their first real battle, and Voss should have already taken command…_

"_I'll take her down to med bay, sir. She's the only one seriously injured, the others are going to the command center with Captain Harburge."_

_Harburge? Memory finally coalesced, the battle falling into place. Voss wasn't here, it wasn't the Rebellion that had attacked them. The Vagaari had been waiting for them in this little backwater sector. Backwater even for Unknown Space, almost nothing of value…_

"_Captain! Enemy vessels have targeted the command superstructure. Shields are at thirty-nine percent--" a blast shook the deck, "twenty-eight percent."_

"_Get her off now. All hands, evacuate the command levels, repeat, all hands, evacuate to the lower levels. Command staff to the secondary command room."_

_Arms slipped under her knees and shoulders, a voice whispered a heart-felt apology as they slowly lifted her off the deck. She barely bit back a scream, knowing that she needed to be moved, and now. They held her tightly against themselves, steps ginger but laced with urgency. The sudden drop of the floor drew a muffled groan from behind clenched teeth. _

"_Don't move too much, Admiral. I'll get you down to the tanks. Don't worry; a few hours in the bacta, you'll be just as beau-good as new. The captain knows what he's doing, he'll beat these aliens." _

_Lieutenant Pieters, so earnest, young, and talented, was the one who was carrying her to safety. The young man who, for the longest time, couldn't form a coherent sentence in her presence, who had requested to be transferred to any ship or duty station, so long as he wasn't on the bridge. It had taken her too long to realise that youthful inexperience wasn't the problem; rather, youthful hormones had been the culprit. Eri'dantae had laughed himself breathless when he tried to explain that the young human had what they called a 'crush' on her. Nothing so embarrassing to a young man, he explained, except if said infatuation learned about it. She'd kept him on the bridge despite his lack of vocabulary in her presence. No doubt, she reasoned, he would settle down eventually._

_The floor stopped with a jolt, the car shifting to horizontal movement. Pieters tightened his hold on her knees, keeping up his monologue, trying to keep her attention, no doubt. Ignore the pain, and try to focus on the battle._

_She managed to drag her eyes open just as the lift doors opened to controlled chaos of the medical section. Orders being barked out, the moans of the injured, too many for them to handle, gurneys along the corridor walls met them as he carried her out, calling for the chief medical officer. _

"_She's been hurt, doctor, she screams anytime we move her, ribs broken, some internal bleeding, we thought her spine might be hurt--"_

"_Scanner!"_

"_The bridge's been lost; we didn't have time to wait until the teams could come. I know we shouldn't have moved her, but--"_

"_It's alright, lieutenant. Just bring her over to the table. Nurse! Get a tank ready with full brace available. Check our Chiss blood supply, prep one bag whole."_

_Eyes closed against the pain as he lowered her to the examination table, she tried not to scream as her spine touched the hard surface. Couldn't hold back against the deluge. Tried desperately to roll onto her side, hands holding her back down. _

"_Just a moment more, Admiral."_

_She counted ten heartbeats._

"_Scan's almost done…there, fracture in the lower vertebrae, several cracked ribs. No internal ruptures, nicked a lung with a fragment of bone. Roll her onto her side in three…two…one."_

_The wrap left as she twitched uncontrollably from the move. Dragging her eyes open, she watched as Pieters, across the room, refused medical aid for a head wound…idiot boy, she thought._

"_No, it's just a scratch. I've got to get to the command room, take my post."_

_Loyal, stubborn, idiot boy, she amended. _

_He turned to see her looking at him. "Admiral, permission to resume my post?"_

"_Permission granted," she whispered, and watched him go._

_The brace around her back eased the pain enough she didn't black out when they started to load her into the bacta tank for her first session. Only when the entire ship bucked from a massive weapon's hit underneath them did she come close to losing consciousness, listening to the swearing from the doctor as he manoeuvred her back into the sticky liquid. _

With a jolt, Mitth'ryl awoke to find Dr. Levine leaning over her to remove the last of the intravenous lines. "Jumpy," the doctor commented, straightening back up. "Just rest there for a while, let the sedative wear off."

"Aye, sir," she muttered under her breath.

"Stay put, and you won't have to spend the night. Overdo it, and you'll pull something and I'll have to put up with you for yet another shift."

Mitth'ryl sniffed. "Your bedside manner--"

"—is saved for those who don't make unilateral decisions on their own health. You left your ship's sickbay with two cracked ribs and a mild slipped disk. If you don't enjoy complete bed rest until I say otherwise, you'll behave next time you have a back injury."

Mitth'ryl raised an eyebrow, scorn dripping from every word. "Then next time I shall instruct the crew to leave my writhing corpse on an exploding bridge, and never mind the lack of air."

"Do," Levine answered, stalking off.

Mitth'ryl winced slightly as she slowly pulled herself into the closest thing she could to a sitting position, looking around the recovery room she had been placed in. One chair across the room held a neatly folded fresh uniform, with shined boots properly placed underneath for her convenience. Her coat had been hung neatly over the back, as well.

"Either Waltz, or Eri'dantae," she murmured to herself, straightening a little farther and twisting to see onto the bedside table. "Waltz would leave a brush," she reasoned, glancing over the collection of medical odds and ends…No brush, so it must have been Eri'dantae who had been here while she soaked.

But there was a datapad propped up against the water carafe, standing ready for her to read. Reaching it took a few tries, and one smothered gasp. Fingers just managing to reach it, she pulled the troublesome piece of hardware to her lap, flicking it on, resisting the urge to rub a hand over stiff muscles.

"_Your schedule is attached below, along with the final repair estimates of your flagship. Parck wants to have a small meeting when you're freed from Dr. Levine's sharp manners, perhaps over dinner. After that, I have the workout room booked for stress relief."_

Mitth'ryl almost paged down to the estimates, but stopped at the small postscript near the bottom of the screen. _"Waltz packed a small bag for you of something or other, and shoved it in the pile as I walked out. I put it in the drawer."_

She breathed a soft laugh, and paged down to the report. She managed read a few of the summaries before drifting off again.

* * *

After her unexpected nap, Mitth'ryl fully expected Dr. Levine to insist on keeping her in the med bay overnight again. However, with a firm warning to keep her medical inexperience to herself, the doctor let her leave for her dinner appointment with Voss. Slipping into her uniform jacket, she noted wryly that it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did before the dip.

Parck let her into his private rooms, where dinner was set out for two. "I have to admit, a soak and a nap has done you the world of good, Admiral."

She let him pull out her chair, and settled in. "The nap wasn't intentional. You needed something while I was asleep?"

Parck, taking a sip of wine, shook his head. "No, I commed down to the doctor only to see if you were able to come for dinner. The good doctor let me know that you were out of the tanks, and that you needed a little more time to recover from the sedative."

Mitth'ryl nodded, not fully convinced. She vaguely recalled him calling her name while she dozed, and footsteps walking away from her bed. She'd let him have his little fib, though. If he wanted to play mother hen, then she'd let him…to a point.

"Did you receive the rest of the intelligence files you were hoping for?"

Parck nodded. "All as we thought, and as Fernic laid out. We should be able to do a simple insertion/fact-finding mission from what we have, although his aide has made discreet inquiries for more information."

"You've spoken with Reignome yet?"

"He's looking over the data we have tonight. I would suggest a full meeting with the heads of department as soon as Chaf'osh'amgamoc gives us the rest of the intelligence." Parck waited for a moment, watching her face. "Shall I comm the Ambassador's ship and tell them that we will be taking this case?"

Mitth'ryl nodded slowly. "I require all information on him, previous arrests and reports from the officers being a priority. Also, crime scene descriptions from crimes he was either accused of and released, or convicted of. Any and all details, not just those that the Ascendancy thinks is pertinent, are required. If they start playing 'need to know,' I start finding other things to do."

"Agreed."


	4. Chapter 4

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 4:**_**But you send your thieves to me, silently stalking me/ Dragging me into your war**_

The serving droid settled the tray of caf and teas in the center of the briefing room table, scattering a few of the datapads that had been sprawled over the polished surface. Giving an electronic sniff, it scurried out with one backwards glance, almost as if it disapproved of the lateness of the hour, and they were all up past their bedtimes.

Taking one cup for herself, Mitth'ryl repeated her question. "Have we determined the likely guest list to this gathering, both in the post meetings, and the ball itself? Are we able to plant in a few of our own operatives?"

Nardin Reignome, head of Special Operations, shook his grizzled hair. A human from the backwater world of Alzoc, he'd come on in on the ground floor of the base as an intelligence officer. Now, decades later, he ran the entire department. "The final guest lists have been approved for the gala itself, ma'am, but the back room discussion list hasn't been found. My sources list persons not invited to the gala itself, and several that are, but not the main players."

"Hardly surprising," Eri'dantae commented from behind his own mug. "They'll hardly have a gold star on their invitations, and a 'bring your own weapons' addendum."

Mitth'ryl ignored him. "What about planting operatives in as staff or guests?"

"We might be able to get a few bus boys in, maybe one waiter. They don't use droids, so there should be plenty of jobs that need doing. Problem is, ma'am, that this group is known to have the whole thing catered by different companies each time he has a massive gala. There is no discernable pattern to which catering company he picks, and he never picks them more than a day and a half in advance."

"One wonders how he manages to get any decent help at all," Voss commented.

"Probably with careful elimination of competition, a safe-full of credits and all the bargaining power a charric can give him, sir," Reignome answered grimly. "We could probably slip a few in, but there is no guarantee that they would get into the final meeting with the Ambassador and leaders."

"Lord Tha'newlis is paranoid over security. I doubt he would _invite_ anyone into the room that he doesn't personally know or trust. Perhaps we can slip in with one of the guests, or one of his flunkies," Mitth'ryl mused, fingers lacing around her steaming mug. "And without getting into that room, I have no way of knowing whether this so-called 'trade agreement' is in the Ascendancy's best interest or not. For, if the Fifth Family's concerns are valid, and this is nothing more than a smokescreen for arms dealing to the anarchists that have been plaguing Csilla's colonies, then they must be stopped forthwith. That, gentlemen, is at the heart of this mission."

"You refer to placing an operative in the room, Admiral, not yourself, I presume," Kres'ten'tarthi said stiffly, hands folded in front of him on the table, spine stiff and straight. The head of the personal guards kept an impassive expression on his face, barely making eye contact with her.

"No, Commander, I mean to go into that meeting myself," Mitth'ryl said calmly.

"May I inquire as to the reasons a fully trained and qualified operative is insufficient?"

Reignome narrowed his eyes at the implied insult, opening his mouth to, no doubt, defend her. She cut him off with a raised hand. "The Commander raises a valid point, one no doubt several of your personnel will have when you brief them, Chief. Second hand intelligence is always, no matter how well recorded, of poorer quality than first hand observations. I have studied Lord Tha'newis in great detail; I remember him from Thrawn's days in the ground forces of the CEDF. He was known then as well, as a Chiss of interest to the Security Council. If this turns out to be a legitimate business deal, then I shan't really be necessary on the inside.

"If, and I believe this much more likely, this a screen for Imperial and Republic technology entering the Ascendancy in anarchist's hands, then precise action must be taken immediately. Not a day later when the briefings occur, or even several hours later, if the operative manages to sneak away and send a secure transmission. Any transmissions must be kept short, and encrypted at the highest levels. This may be the only chance we get to have this many leader of this group together on the ground. All of this means that I would rather not leave a decision of such magnitude to someone who does not have the same experience, knowledge, and position as I have. Any further questions, Commander?"

"I am merely concerned for the safety of the leader of Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo's forces, Admiral," Kres'ten'tarthi said stiffly, eyes narrowed at her.

"Duly noted."

Eri'dantae's eyes narrowed, but he stayed quiet at Mitth'ryl's faint head shake.

"Perhaps," Voss said quietly into the tense silence, "as a secondary plan, we could have someone go in as Chaf'ern'ictrassi's date. His invitation did say that he is to bring a date with him."

"What Tha'newis wants is more eye-candy," Eri'dantae grumbled.

The comm interrupted him. "Admiral Mitth'ryl, there's a comm for you coming in from the shipyards."

"Pipe it to my office," she said. "Gentlemen," she said with a nod. She slipped from the room, leaving the officers to stare at each other for a moment.

Parck finally broke the silence. "What is the likelihood of getting a staff member in there, Reignome?" he asked quietly.

"Not krif—likely, sir. For the gala itself it would be no problem, but not the back meeting."

Parck nodded and looked at Waltz. "Instruct Procurement to start looking at the fashion rags to see what the well-dressed flop is wearing this year. No one pays attention to eye candy, but they can see quite a lot. If anyone comes up with a better idea, then feel free to give it voice in the next few days. Dismissed."

Kres'ten'tarthi nodded once, but Eri'dantae could see a certain disgust in his face. No doubt, the great and near mythic Thrawn would never have stooped so low to do this himself. "Is there a problem, Commander?" Eri'dantae said quietly, cornering the aloof Chiss just before he left the room.

"I have no issue with the consort of an Admiral of the Empire of the Hand. Good day, sir." Brushing past him, the other Chiss stalked out of the room.

"No issue with me, do you?" Eri'dantae muttered as he and Waltz walked down the hall a few minutes later. Parck had stopped Eri'dantae from following the Commander into the hall, and with good reason, Waltz thought. The two hadn't seen eye to eye before Mitth'ryl came to the Empire, and they certainly didn't now that she was leading the fleet.

"He isn't Mitth'ryl's biggest fan," Waltz allowed, trying to keep up with the weapon master's long strides.

"He hasn't openly approved of anything she's done since she's awoken. Her tactics are different, her planning methods are uncouth, and she doesn't do everything that the Grand Admiral did. So what? She gets the same results, and the New Republic hasn't sent anyone out here to kill her. Would he be happier if there were a few Noghri running around trying to kill her?"

"He's not the only one that is having trouble with accepting her. It will pass; and anyway, Mitth'ryl doesn't seem to mind it, so long as her orders are followed in a timely manner. They can have their own opinion," Waltz said diplomatically.

"She's not Thrawn reincarnated, is the problem," Eri'dantae muttered.

"Even if she was, there would still be those who wouldn't like that there would be a vat-grown clone of the Grand Admiral running the show. You can't win them all. Remember, Thrawn may have had the adoration of his troops on the whole, but not everyone liked the guy. Plenty were with him just for the chance to work out here and beat up a few non-Imperials."

Eri'dantae nodded. Just before getting into the turbo-lift on the way to his evening classes, he turned back to Waltz. "There weren't any rumours about who might have – ah, tried to make a… that is to say…"

"Stent didn't make a pass and fail, if that is what you are trying to spit out."

Eri'dantae nodded briskly. "I hoped not. Don't want to add that to the mix, too."

* * *

With a soft whoosh, Mitth'ryl landed on the over-stuffed mat. Shaking her head, she swung herself up onto her feet just in time to duck a swing from the weapon's master. Using his own momentum, she slipped inside his reach and gave a quick jab at his ribs, driving the breath from him. Dancing back, feet settling into the proper positions, she aimed one half kick at him, forcing the puffing Chiss to backpedal to avoid a round ending blow.

"Cheat," he gasped, still trying to gain air into his lungs.

She tilted her head at him, hands raised in readiness. "How is it cheating?" she asked, a smile dancing on the edges of her mouth. "This is a sparring session, I am sparring with you. I haven't pulled a knife or used the mat to smother you." She gave a once over Eri'dantae. "Or is it only that I'm beating you today?"

"You're _supposed_," he said, leaning heavily on the word, "to be doing gentle warm-ups and workouts to help tone healing muscles, not to be beating the stuffing out of me." Breath back, he continued trying to get behind her, a few simple swings here and there, graceful foot work traveling him faster around the room that one would think… one that didn't know Eri'dantae as she did. The feints and manoeuvring was a screen to make her back track towards the large mat, and to trap her there. The unspoken end of any bout, to have your opponent pinned so that they couldn't get up; it was a goal that he rarely now achieved without outside help.

"I'd hardly call this 'beating the stuffing out of you'. Rather, keeping you in shape for your advanced classes."

Eri'dantae sniffed, both proud and annoyed when she expertly danced across the edge of the mat, putting it between her and the weapon's master. "My advanced classes aren't nearly this much fun." He smirked, letting his gaze travel. "Or as prone to rewards."

She rolled her eyes, moving backward quickly to avoid his rush. "Rewards such as serving the masses wine and champagne for six hours to fluff and strutting diplomats. Stellar opportunity there."

"I'm sure that you'll do-" a quick jab, and retreat, "-just fine at playing 'good girl hostess'. Think of it as a new experience."

She aimed one quick kick, lining him up for a left punch. "As opposed to?"

Eri'dantae stuttered a step, ducking under the swing, and lining one up for himself. "Opposed to biting men's heads off, that's what. You have to be a good little girl, humble and demure, and lady like."

"Lady like?" she asked, voice steady and quiet. Her hands came closer to her body, keeping her strikes purely defensive.

"Yes," Eri'dantae said, pressing his advantage. "Ladylike, an adjective: befitting a woman of fine breeding and upraising. Not a tomboy, or liable to break anyone's bones."

"Indeed," Mitth'ryl answered. "Unlikely to or unable to?"

Eri'dantae winced, sensing a trap. Blocking one half-hearted shot at his shoulders, he answered, "Unlikely to, as per decorum."

"Oh, I see." With a shrug, she swung under his next swing, grapping his arm on the way under and behind him. With a twist, and one blow to the back on his knees, he was down, gasping, face forward onto the edge of the mat. The air left his lungs, with stars just in front of his eyes.

"So, this new experience, being ladylike. You think that this tomboy can't be humble, demure and coy," she said, settling down astride his ribs, keeping the arm twisted up against his back.

"I never said you couldn't be," Eri'dantae said, shifting his weight under her. Turning his head, he looked back at her. "I think that you can be a very proper young lady."

She didn't let him up. "Can be, or have been?"

"It is certainly within your vast repertoire to be a proper lady. Argh!" he gasped, trying vainly to twist away from her as she pushed his arm higher.

"Can be, or have been?" she calmly asked once more.

"Well, you're not being one now—alright, alright! You have been a proper lady, delicate and demure." Gasping, he squirmed under her, trying to loosen her hold.

"Thank you ever so much," she whispered in his ear, smiling. She eased her pressure on the arm, letting some feeling back into the limb. "Now why didn't you say that to start with?"

"It's just, your being an Admiral, you don't get--"

"Careful, now."

"—you don't get as many chances at seeing how non-military personnel behave."

She nodded, smirking at him. "Indeed. How remise of my educational instructors."

"I think so, too. A little more air would be nice, my love," he gasped. He could feel her shift lower, settling down on the small of his back. "Just the spot," he groused.

"So, this mission will help fill in those gaps that I and my predecessor have?"

"Well, yes. He couldn't go on too many undercover missions after he joined the Empire. People sort of notice the big blue guy with the glowy eyes. So, normal, everyday people wouldn't be acting all normal, and on a military base, no one ever acts relaxed and normal."

"So, here they will be acting all normal?" Mitth'ryl purred, getting comfortable.

"Yes, they will, and you can watch, and see how normal females are supposed to behave." Too late, he realized what he had said. "I mean – ack!"

Twisting the arm up almost to the dislocation point, she pushed him down farther into the mat. "Normal females? What am I, an _'it'_?"

"You're a wonderfully talented, ambitious admiral who has my undying loyalty," he wheezed.

"But still, an admiral is an '_it'_, that is what you've implied." She leaned forward, pressing onto his ribs, one hand gripping the back of his throat. "A figurehead, with no more feeling than a ship has."

"You are a wonderful, beautiful female, who is just and kind, and so much more than a figurehead. You are the shining light that leads this Empire."

"Flattery will not get you off this mat."

"You can see how everyday people work and feel in everyday situations. Something extraordinary people never get to see, or be. A face in the crowd, unnoticed until you slip a knife between their ribs."

She let his arm go about half way. "Continue."

He drew in a deep breath to straining lungs. "He was never able to go into a situation like this. You can get to be behind the scenes, look at how less talented females behave, and be able to mimic them. Mimic being dainty, and flighty, and having no brains, and other things that neither you nor Thrawn would ever have been exposed to."

"I agree. You're doing well," she complemented him, easing back on his arm a bit more, and releasing his neck. She could feel him trying to flex the tingling muscles.

"You get so few opportunities to be just another Chiss. On board your ship, you never really get any time off, you're on call the whole time, and this way, you get to have a little non-Admiral time. So, even if you're just faking it in the staff lounge, you can still relax a little. You absorb knowledge like a finely tuned scanner, you hardly need to work at it."

She nodded, waiting to see if he was going to add anything to his mad rush of words. It seemed, for now, that he was done, panting under her. She smiled a little and slipped off him, just enough that he could roll onto his back. "I suppose that I should let you live for now," she decided, head tilted to one side.

"Gracious of you, my dear," Eri'dantae said, smiling a bit as she settled back on top of his stomach, still pinning him to the mat.

"Well, I do prefer to have a witness to my stellar performance at this gala," she admitted, leaning closer to his face, eyes narrowing.

"An appreciative audience is always preferred." He slipped both hands up to her hips, smiling wolfishly.

"As much fun as that would be," she whispered, leaning back and slowly standing up, "I doubt you wish your students to find you tied to the lunge bench with a skipping rope, sans uniform."

Eri'dantae, one hand still raised, dropped it back to the mat with a thump. "You wouldn't," he claimed, eyes narrowed.

Mitth'ryl stepped back, smoothly pushing her hair back into one long tail down the back. "I believe your evening class is waiting outside. I'm sure two more minutes of idleness won't harm them."

He looked her over once, and then smiled weakly. "Perhaps another time."

"Perhaps," she agreed, picking up her coat.

"I still think this is a good idea for you, something new, something exciting," he called after her.

* * *

AN: this was a fun scene to write. She has certainly settled into her new role well, hasn't she?


	5. Chapter 5

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 5**: _And I discovered that my castles stand on pillars of salt and pillars of sand_

The room was wide open, with various holographic projectors showing several dozen pieces of artwork. Waltz, carrying in another set of datapads, couldn't help but smile at the young Chiss Admiral. Mitth'ryl stood at one end of the room, eyes narrowed in deep thought. The painting that currently held all of her attention was nearly half again as tall as the Chiss, with brilliant colours swirled together in a pattern that reminded her of marble cake.

Then again, lunch was running late again.

"I see you got the recon data from Fernic," she said, pitching her voice just that little bit louder than normal.

"Hmm, oh, Waltz. Yes," she said, giving a long glance over the collection. "One of the CEDF's raids took excellent shots of one of Lord Tha'newlis's main bases, including his study and office space. They are of magnificent quality."

"So glad that you approve," Waltz said, smothering a grin. "I have the rest of the data that you requested from Fernic. Any reason," she added, handing over the stack, "that Fernic is avoiding you?"

"He's not avoiding me," the Admiral said, flicking through the screens and nodding absently.

"Okay, then why am I now on a first name basis with the Ambassador's secretary, and you have only seen him once?"

Mitth'ryl shrugged slightly, still engrossed in the datapads. "He and his staff returned to their ship to prepare for the mission."

"His aide stayed on base," Waltz provided, "and Fernic was on base two days ago with him."

Mitth'ryl looked up from the data streaming across her screen. "He did?"

Waltz nodded. "He and Voss have been working all morning on the regional data."

Mitth'ryl thought about it for a moment. "Most likely he's still embarrassed over the meeting's snafu," she said, her attention wandering back to the documents in her hand. "He's still quite young, remember."

Waltz nodded. "About your age, isn't he?" she asked innocently.

"On or about. Ah, they included his educational records as well…."

Waltz strolled over to the marble cake painting. "Fernic asked about you, when he was here."

"Did he? No doubt trying to assess whether I am capable of this mission." Mitth'ryl didn't even look up from her screen or unsettle herself from her chair.

"No, he was asking about you." When Mitth'ryl didn't respond, she added a clarifier. "Your likes, dislikes, favourite foods…"

"So, he's collecting a dossier on – he didn't," she interrupted herself, looking up at last from the datapad.

"Yeah. Seems he likes a lady with spunk, at least according to his junior aides."

Mitth'ryl sighed. "Just what – wait, who did he ask?" She had a sinking feeling she knew who.

"Me first, then … well, Eri'dantae was just there, and he turned to him and asked…"

Mitth'ryl's eyes closed in horror, imagining the diplomatic explosion that must have occurred when she was in sickbay. "Dare I ask…?" she whispered.

"Eri'dantae mostly behaved himself. I believe he said you liked Corellian classical music, disliked false bravado, your favourite food was anything that wasn't vacuumed-sealed and as was your consort, he would know," Waltz reported, deadpan.

"Tactful," Mitth'ryl said, surprised. "Dare I ask the Ambassador's response?"

"He turned purple, thanked Eri'dantae for the information, and scurried back to his aides."

Mitth'ryl, fingertips pressed together in meditation, nodded, then sent a sharp look at her young friend. "How did he 'somewhat' misbehave?"

"He was tossing a throwing knife up and down, just playing with it," Waltz said, the doors closing on her last words.

Mitth'ryl's eyes closed in exasperation. "No skinning other Chiss," she muttered under her breath, and turned her attention back to the reports.

* * *

The door chime broke what little attention Mitth'ryl had for the ridiculous report on her desk. It had come from one of their sources in Bastion, reporting on the council of Moffs. Reading transcripts of the meetings that Pellaeon wasn't there for was like sitting in on a play-day in primary class. At least four year olds had the excuse of too much sugar and not enough naptimes.

"Come," she called, opening the door when nothing happened.

Waltz stood just outside the door, balancing a pile of small boxes on one arm, while trying to hit the door release. "Hey, thanks," she said, moving into the room.

"Dare I ask what that disaster is for?" Mitth'ryl asked dryly. "Or shall I wait for gravity to show what's in there?"

"Ha. I'll have you –eep!" she squeaked, trying desperately to catch the tumbling pile. All but one made it to the lounge chair, which burst open to reveal a pair of black high heeled shoes. "I'm supposed to find out which of these fit better, for the mission."

Mitth'ryl sighed, but came around the desk. "I suppose normal dress boots are unacceptable."

Waltz, busy lining up boxes, shrugged. "Gotta keep with the style that everyone else will be wearing."

The first pair were little different in height from uniform footwear. Open, with a thin strap around the ankle, it was certainly a new feeling for the young Chiss, but hardly by much. The next pair…

"Why would serving staff wear two-inch heels?" Mitth'ryl asked, eyeing the shoes with faint distrust.

Waltz, busy with the clasp on the right one, shrugged again. "All I know is that they gave me three boxes and a tape measure. See how they fit. Go on, try once around the office."

Sliding down onto the floor, Mitth'ryl could feel muscles stretching out in her legs. She teetered for a moment, found her new balance and walked once around the office. "Interesting," she commented, "yet I would not wish to move with any speed in them."

Waltz nodded absently, looking from several angles at her. "Come here."

Doing so, the young Chiss watched in curiosity as Waltz ran both hands over her ankles. "Keep them straight, walk on your soles, not on the tips of your toes. Next pair!"

The final pair looked more like a knife had been attached to a shoe than like anyone would want to wear. Three inch thin heels pushed all her weight forward onto the balls of her feet. The shoes seemed liable to fall off at a moment's notice, even with the thin ankle straps. "Why would anyone ever consent to wear such excruciatingly high death-traps?" Mitth'ryl gasped, nearly falling on Waltz.

"Fashion, appeal, sexiness, pulled tendons, increased height, uniform requirements, male stupidity," Waltz listed them offhandedly, helping the Chiss with her balance.

Slowly, the Chiss mince-stepped her way around the office, Waltz keeping an appraising eye on her. "Well, it's possible for you to do it," she concluded as Mitth'ryl teetered to a halt. "You need a little practice, though. I need your coat off for the measurements. No," she added when the admiral went to sit down, "with the heels on."

Mitth'ryl frowned, but after remote keying the door luck to maximum privacy levels, slipped her uniform coat and dress shirt off. "Why in heels?" she asked warily.

"Posture is all different, ratio of leg to body length changes, the people in costuming are all vicious desk-bound paper pushers with nothing else to do, I don't know," Waltz snapped as she took measurements of her young charges full height, and distance from floor to shoulder, bust, under bust, waist, hips, and knees. Three more measurements around her ribs and bust, then Waltz snapped the tape shut. "All done!"

"May I get rid of these now?" Mitth'ryl asked, gesturing at her feet.

"Yes, but don't burn them, I need them back." Waltz gathered everything up, still avoiding as much eye contact as she could. "Bye!"

"Waltz--" But the door had already slid closed behind the young lady. She turned the corner, and nearly hit Eri'dantae who was lounging against the wall, polite inquiry written all over his face. She balanced the boxes again, smiled and reported, "The three inch is a go. You two should probably practice."

Eri'dantae's face betrayed his idea for practice topics. It fell when Waltz said dryly, "You can pick her up easier."

* * *

The datapad lay, apparently forgotten, on the edge of the desk. The office was empty; Eri'dantae was running out of obvious places to look for Mitth'ryl. She'd cancelled their dinner without any reason via a protocol droid, hardly like her. Now, after checking the workout rooms, the weight room, and her rooms, he was beginning to wonder if she was even on the base anymore. He'd even sent Waltz down to the cloning chambers, now being used for storage, with no luck. Parck had idly commed him an hour ago to say that he was all alone in the library and in the planning offices of Intelligence.

Finally heading down the levels to his own rooms, Eri'dantae had to admit that she was much better at hiding than the Grand Admiral. She seemed to slip through the cracks better than average, and could, in any moment, be simply standing behind you. Highly annoying, and highly useful in combat. Stepping off the slideway, he meandered to his door, slid the door card into the slot, and stepped into lit rooms.

The object of his search sat huddled in the corner of the chesterfield, arms up around her knees. The loose clothing wrapped around her, making her look even smaller than she really was. Mitth'ryl looked up at him as he walked over to her, eyes wide and unblinking. Head tilted to one side, he settled down beside her, careful to keep close, but not touching. He'd seen wild animals with less intention to bolt away… or snarl and bite him.

After a few minutes, he decided that she wasn't going to be the one to break the silence.

"You want to tell me what is eating you from the inside out?"

She didn't answer.

Eri'dantae continued, keeping his voice even. "You've been quiet, or moody, or snappish with everyone for the last two days." He reached around behind her, rubbing small circles on the tense muscles in her shoulders.

Still, she didn't answer, but her eyes closed half-way.

"You even bit Waltz's head off when all she was doing was bringing in caf and snacks."

Mitth'ryl was leaning into the small massage, eyes mostly closed. He almost continued, but then he closed his mouth quickly when he noticed her swallow and give one lick over dried lips. It took another few minutes, but she pulled away from his hand, keeping her eyes away from his.

"We had sustained hardly any damage," she finally began, voice low. "The shields were still over half strong, almost at seventy five percent and building as repair crews worked on them."

Eri'dantae stayed quiet as she gathered the words together, slowly putting them together into the best order.

"We had destroyed one of the enemy's ships. It was a good, solid attack, with hardly any loses. A good, clean engagement, good for the crew's moral. They – they were mostly young crew members, not used to the stress of battle, but moral was high after that first ship."

She continued to stare straight ahead, her voice strangely flat and unemotional. "There was another ship that we were concentrating on. Barely half the size of an old corvette, their gunners were trying their best to punch through our shields. My gunners took care of the ship in record time, and soon it seemed, to all accounts, dead in space. No engine readouts, little in the way of life support, fading even as our sensors pierced the clouds of debris. At any rate, the weapons on our facing side were completely out of commission, molten slag in most cases. It was safe for the officers and the ship's computer to ignore, and mark as out of the fight.

"They rammed us, somehow. Perhaps they hooked an auxiliary engine up, or jury rigged for a run-away surge of energy to the sub-light drives. There isn't enough left of them to find out now. It would be an interesting item to know, though," she added softly.

Eri'dantae nodded, keeping a calm face and voice. "Where did they ram the ship?"

She stared straight ahead long enough that Eri'dantae was tempted to repeat the question. "A direct hit to the support beams that connect the bridge superstructure to the main ship. They nearly took the entire bridge off the ship in that one strike. Shields fell to less than thirty percent almost instantly around the bridge itself. There were several explosions; the other ships were targeting the bridge now that the main damage had been done.

"I am told that there was a second blast from the enemy ship, perhaps the fuel tanks erupting, or unused artillery exploding as fires spread through both ships at the impact point. Main power was cut from the command decks, auxiliary at less than twenty three percent, just enough to keep environmental systems and the antigrav systems online. I was unconscious by that point, and several of the remaining crew were busy uncovering me from the debris of my command chair and the ceiling panels above. Six crew remained, as well as the captain. Pieters," she said, pausing for a moment, and then continued, voice still that unemotional flatness that hid something. "Pieters, at communications, volunteered to carry me down to the medical sections, as I was unable to stay conscious. Pieters wasn't needed right away in the secondary command room; there was already a communications officer on duty. He could keep the position for a few more minutes before being relieved. The bridge was being evacuated, the staff to the lower command levels, the injured to whatever room there was in the medical bays.

"He was still stuttering a bit, you know," she whispered, eyes closing, "still so uncomfortable around … in the whole situation." Eri'dantae slowly put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing in small circles. She drew in a breath, not nearly so detached now, and resumed. "After the medics started to work on my injuries, he asked – he asked permission to resume his duties. I--"

Mitth'ryl stopped, eyes tightly closed, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "I gave it," she said bleakly, barely any volume in her voice. "He was only hurt a little, and we'd lost _so many_ … a small scalp wound, those bleed forever--" She was shaking a little, trying to regain her equilibrium in an uncharted emotional storm. She held out, just for a moment, against collapsing in Eri'dantae's embrace. Her parade-straight spine resisted that comfort, as stiff as a young lieutenant's, reporting for duty…

She collapsed against his side, eyes squeezed shut. "I couldn't stop him," she choked, voice ragged. "He should have stayed and had his wounds looked after, but he was so stubborn, so dutiful, he shrugged it off, he said it wasn't that bad."

Eri'dantae held her tightly, letting her finish. The battle had been over almost two weeks ago now. She'd held this in that long…?

"What happened to him?" he asked quietly, a small knot of dread in his gut.

"I could barely move, he seemed alright, but I never had the medics check. If I'd kept him there, if I'd just called him back…" she moaned into his sweater, fists clenched in the loose fabric. She was shaking, taking in deep breaths that would tip over to sobs at any moment.

Eri'dantae found his eyes closing, knowing exactly what had happened. He asked the question she most needed to hear herself answer. "How did he die?"

"There was a stray torpedo. It hit the ship…our shields were flickering… it slipped through a gap. One torpedo from a ship that was already in a thousand pieces," she continued, voice hoarse, not really answering his question the way it needed to be answered.

"Where did it hit?"

She was settling back into the professional mode. She could lose herself in the specs of the battle, the details of the confrontation. "The starboard side."

"Where was he, Mitth'ryl?" he asked quietly, keeping a tight hold on her. He refused to let her slip back into admiral mode. _She _needed this, the admiral of the fleet didn't.

She shook for a time, tried twice to answer him normally. "He was in the turbolift," she whispered finally, voice hoarse. "He… he hadn't even made it to his post…" She couldn't continue, burying her face. The soundless sobs shook her thin frame for some few minutes before she calmed enough to pull away a little from him.

"I shouldn't," she started to say, straightening up.

"No, you should." He tried to pull her back against him, but she shook her head and straightened back into her corner.

"I shouldn't be feeling this way," she finished, long fingers fiddling with one of the throw pillows beside her.

Eri'dantae was baffled. "Why not?" he asked her, keeping his voice soft. A hard tone would close her up again, harder to open than a Hutt's safe.

"I've lost crew before," she said softly. "Every commander in a fleet has, it's the law of averages. I never reacted like this before. _He _never reacted like this, even when he lost acquaintances. It is just **not** done."

Eri'dantae wasn't getting any less baffled. "Not done?"

"We don't deal with death this way," she said matter-of-factly. "We keep our feelings lidded."

"'We?'"

She looked at him, almost as baffled as he felt. "We, the Chiss," she clarified. "We are logical, calm; we don't let … we don't let a death affect us this way."

This was completely new to him. Then again, different regions dealt with things in their own way, and the military another way entirely. "How do you?" he asked. When she didn't answer him right away, he rephrased it. "When is it 'proper' to deal with death?"

She tilted her head, looking lost. "There are times…" she said, trailing off.

"Like?" he prodded.

She brought her gaze back to his. "At funerals, or memorials," she said quietly. "There, emotions are tolerated, or even expected from those close to the deceased."

"Pieters' funeral was when?"

"I was already on my way to the base when his body was found," she said softly, eyes downcast. "Harburge's report didn't give specific times for each officer's service."

"But they have already been done?" That complicated matters a little, he mused. He sat still for a few minutes, thinking. "What about his family? Have they been informed?"

The small nod whacked that idea out of the way, but it still seemed to be the best answer he could come up with. "I think you should write them," he said finally, nodding to himself as the pieces clicked together.

"You do?"

"Those letters are usually formal letters, lists of credentials, right?"

"Usually."

"I think you need to write them what happened. Let them know that their son wasn't just on a caf run, or away from his post. Tell them that their brave young son was being the gallant hero and getting his admiral to safety. And tell them what he could have been, because of what you saw in him." He pulled her into a hug, holding her gently. "Because that is why his passing is so hard. He looked up to you, admired you, and you felt that that you had to take care of him and you think you've failed him."

"I did--"

"You would have accepted his transfer request if you didn't. You would have demoted him if you didn't look past the boy and see the officer that he would have been. That's why, and that's why I can say you didn't fail him. He last assignment was saving you; he couldn't have prouder a day in his life. I know I wouldn't have been."

She sighed softly, and nodded into his shoulder.

After a time, he smiled slightly. "Imagine, my love," he said whimsically into her hair, "how much harder it would have been for him to make a sentence after this?"


	6. Chapter 6

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 6****: **_**Why is my reflection someone I don't know?**_

That evening, Mitth'ryl settled down in her own sofa, away from all reports, files, and meetings. Eri'dantae was teaching self-defence classes for another hour, and then he would be free for the rest of the evening as well. She was quite sure that she would be able to think of something to keep them both occupied that didn't involve work of any kind.

The door chime intruded on her happy thoughts, drawing a frown from her. "Come," she called, not rising from underneath the lap blanket or putting the novel that Eri'dantae had recommended down.

Waltz slowly entered, shoebox, garment bag and several other boxes all balanced in her arms. "Now, don't get up," she said dryly. "I'll just find a place to put all this down without dropping anything."

"You're welcome." Mitth'ryl turned a page, barely glancing up.

"Where's your full-length mirror?"

"In the bedroom; tap the wardrobe door on the upper right corner."

Waltz made it, judging by the lack of crashing noises. A few minutes passed, enough for Mitth'ryl to finish her chapter and become curious. Sliding out from under the blanket, she wandered into the bedroom…

…to a wardrobe explosion. Draped across the neatly made bed was a tight-looking top, with at least fifty small hooks in the back. The large garment bag was hanging from the door, still closed. Shoes poked out of one of the boxes. Another box held several long pins, a thin dagger and a sharp looking comb. Two more boxes were open with several rings, bracelets, purses, and necklaces to choose from. A makeup case was on the nightstand, with base, lip rouge, and various other powders and sticks she had only a faint idea what they did.

"What is this all for?" Mitth'ryl asked, voice tight and quiet.

"The plans have changed a bit. Admiral Parck didn't mention it to you after the last of the meetings?"

"I left right at the end for a comm-call from my ship. Final reports and fatality lists had just come in," she said tightly, trying to ignore the sharp ache inside. _One damn shot in the dark…_

Waltz's eyes opened wide. "Oh. So you don't know that Intel has confirmed that wait staff aren't to be included in the final meeting. Only invited members and their dates will be included. So, you'll have to go in as Fernic's date."

"And all of this," a blue hand encompassed the sprawling mass of items, "is necessary?"

"Yep. You have to look like the other ladies at the party. Otherwise, you'll stand out in the wrong way. Rather than the right way," Waltz added, giving the Chiss an exaggerated once-over.

Mitth'ryl could feel the blood flushing her cheeks a bit at that. "Do we have to do this now?" she muttered under her breath. She took a step closer. "I suppose you need to check the fit, don't you?"

Waltz nodded, sympathetic. "Just the once. Then they can make any adjustments on the mannequins downstairs."

"They have my measurements," she groused as she slowly took her overlarge sweater off. "Why can't they just make a mannequin that is the same size as me?"

Waltz shrugged. "I guess you might put a few ounces here and there. Always better to get a feel for the costume. Besides, didn't you used to have your own stormtropper armour? Those always need fine-tuning."

"He did, yes. I haven't, just the body armour." Mitth'ryl took the white top thing in her hands, turning it around a few times. "Just how does this work?" she asked, confused.

"Well," Waltz said, taking it back and turning it upright and right side out. She held it out to the young Chiss. "This part goes up front, and this goes to the back. Getting it done up is my job. Oh, it goes on first," she added as Mitth'ryl disappeared behind the refresher door. She puttered for a moment, pulling out a hair brush and two hair sticks.

"Ready," came the quavering voice from behind the door.

Waltz waited until Mitth'ryl moved around the door, trying to keep a professional look on her face. She aligned it just on the under bust line, sliding under the swell. Deftly tying the long blue black hair into a bun, she placed the sticks in, hoping it would hold long enough. "Okay, try not to move too much, and let's hope that I don't put the second hook on the first eyelet, the third on the second…."

Starting at the bottom, Waltz's deft fingers made short work of the first 2 inches of hooks. She was working on the third inch when Mitth'ryl spoke. "Just why is this thing necessary?"

"It's called a support garment, not a thing. It keeps everything where it is supposed to be, and a female's stomach area flat, not that you need that so much. It helps with the dress, keeping flat sections flat, and prevents bunching. Some of them lift and separate one's cleavage, others lift and give cleavage. I think," she added quietly, "this is one of the latter."

"Of course," Mitth'ryl muttered darkly, one hand trying to pull the limited fabric up higher.

Waltz reached around and pulled her hand away. "Stop it. It's fine right where it is. Now, take your last deep breath." She started on the next section of hooks. "You won't be able to when I'm done."

"One is supposed to be able to breathe!" Mitth'ryl gasped. "Chiss and humans have the same number of ribs, you realize."

"Not high born ladies, or giddy eye candy," Waltz argued, pulling the hooks tighter against the blue ribs. Glancing at the mirror, checking to see that everything was straight, she reached around pulled the Chiss's right hand away from the bodice. "Leave it."

"Need air," the other hissed.

"Take nice shallow breaths. Slow, steady, and with the top of your lungs. Not like you were going to yell across the bridge," Waltz scolded, fingers on the last inch of hooks.

"I don't think I could do much more than squeak with this straight jacket on," Mitth'ryl complained.

"I'm done. Turn around once, see what you think."

Slowly, Mitth'ryl turned around, twisting a little to look over her shoulder at her reflection. The long row of hooks was barely visible from this distance. Looking down the length of it, she could see that like from the front, her waist was tightly cinched in until her hips flared out, creating the fashionable timepiece figure.

"It looks good," Waltz said from in front of her. "Everything fit pretty well. Just going to slide a finger in and check for room." She proceeded to check the back and side of the young Chiss's ribs, nodding to herself.

"Well, where is every--"

Waltz and Mitth'ryl whirled around toward the door, both horrified. Eri'dantae's voice floated in to the room as his footsteps wandered into the food preparation area. It would only take a glance, and then he'd be –

As Mitth'ryl dived for her discarded sweater, Waltz dashed out the room, hitting the door close switch on her way. She stuttered a few steps, trying to make the turn to the eating area, when she ran smack into the weapon master.

"What's going--?"

"Get out, get out, get out!" Waltz ordered, pointing to the door to try and get him to leave, and more importantly, not look at the bedroom door, which hadn't closed. She glanced once at the doorway, hoping that Mitth'ryl was at least in the 'fresher, behind a locked door.

It was one glance too many. Homing in on the room, he started to move toward the bedroom. "Now, what is it that you don't want me to--?"

"What part of **out**," Waltz demanded, stepping in front of Eri'dantae and poking him in the chest, "is not clear to you? Get out! You are supposed to be teaching right now."

"I let the class out early after Chirpov broke his wrist," he explained, edging around the young aide. "What is it that you don't want me to see?"

Waltz danced in front of him again, and he promptly picked her up and placed her to one side. "Stay put, would you? I just want a peak!"

"Fine!" Waltz huffed. "Peak at this," she said, twisting one his arms under and up, pinning it painfully against his shoulder blades. Ignoring his gasp, she marched him out of the apartment. Pushing him into the hall, she shook her head. "Men!"

As she entered a new door lock code, one that Eri'dantae better not crack in his now-copious spare time, she heard soft clapping. Turning around, she smiled sheepishly at the blanket-wrapped admiral. "Well, he asked for it," she defended.

"Oh, I agree," Mitth'ryl said with a smirk. Twice in one week for that arm lock. His houlder was not going to thank him for that… "Shall we finish this, Waltz?" she pleaded softly, padding back into the room. She was trying to get the zipper to open on the garment bag when Waltz, after checking the door one last time, finally made it in.

"Oh, gimme that," she said, shooing the other's hands away. "You have to press and hold the clasp, and then unzip it."

Stepping back, Mitth'ryl draped the blanket over the back of the chair. "So, what does our Intel say that the latest fashion look – Emperor's black bones, that thing is shorter than a bacta dip robe!"

Waltz slowly pulled the topic of discussion out, and held it up for inspection. "Yes, it is."

"Where is the rest of it?"

Waltz looked at the Chiss, puzzled. "Rest of what?"

Mitth'ryl motioned at the dress. "The rest of the gown!"

"Ah…this isn't gown," Waltz started to explain, a sinking suspicion settling in. "It's a cocktail dress. It's supposed to be this short, and with no shoulders or sleeves."

"But," Mitth'ryl whispered, looking frazzled, "there's a coat, or a shrug, or a capelet or…or something else!" She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring up at Waltz. "Women aren't expected to go out in public looking like…like that! Are they?"

Waltz hung the dress on the closet door and sat beside the upset young woman. "Some like to dress that way," she said softly, keeping a close eye on the other. "They think that men want that in a woman. They see it as a way to get attention. Others only wear it to fit in, and not stand out amongst their peers, but they would rather not wear them at all.

"And yes, some women refuse to wear such garments, finding them demeaning or sexist or indecent. There are numerous dress fashions, most of which Thrawn should have seen at Court on the Imperial Palace's dance floor. Surely Thrawn at least noticed the women around him?" Waltz asked, and then thought of something else. "Unless he wasn't _looking_ at females?" she asked delicately.

Mitth'ryl smiled a bit. "Yes, he did _look_ at females, but he never really…" she trailed off, almost unwilling to delve into that section of the Admiral's life.

"Ah…oh," Waltz said, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"He never really _courted_ anyone," Mitth'ryl corrected, a faint blush in her cheeks. She'd started on this, and Waltz was such a close friend…"There were a few dalliances with fellow crew. They were over in a night or two, matters of convenience for both parties." She plucked at the fabric of her corset, keeping her eyes away from Waltz's. "You have to realize, Thrawn was put into the academy at the age of seven. He was a child prodigy, wild and undisciplined. He desperately needed the structure in his life.

"So, as he grew into an adult, the only women he saw were instructors, and other cadets. He experimented, of course; the entire cadet force did." She smiled ruefully. "After all, for the most part, they were all hitting their prime years. But as he started looking a little more closely to find a mate, he graduated, and was assigned to his first ship. In a matter of months, he was rising through the ranks, gaining the attention of the upper echelons. The Eighth Family extended their offer of Trial-born, and so he stopped looking."

"Why?" Waltz asked, puzzled.

"If the family had approved of him, he would have been assigned a mate. So, to avoid breaking a dalliance off, he simply threw himself into his work, and avoided all entanglements. Then, of course, the Ruling Families exiled him, and the next time he saw another of his own kind, he wasn't all that interested in 'settling down'. He had an Empire to defend and the forces out here to create and organize. I don't remember him really making the decision to never marry," she admitted softly, "it just sort of…"

"Dawned on him one morning?" Waltz supplied gently.

Mitth'ryl nodded, eyes downcast.

"So, that's why you were so shy about you and Eri'dantae," Waltz surmised, nodding to herself. "You've never really had those feelings before, have you?"

"No," Mitth'ryl admitted. "Love has little place in Chiss society. One marries for position, not for love." She straightened up, and forced a smile at her friend. "So, you'll have to excuse the lack of risqué ladies fashion knowledge. He could have been staring right them, and only noticed that the person was speaking to a certain lieutenant. There were a few exceptions, of course," she added, thinking back on a certain Hand.

"So, this assignment is something that neither of us has ever done. This 'eye candy' idea," she said scornfully, "is so out of the ordinary fleet activities. And so demeaning … mortifying … " She shivered a bit, eyes traveling back to the dress on its hanger.

"Yet for this assignment," Waltz said gently, "you have to be one of the girls hanging on some power-hungry man's arm. In that society, women don't have feelings or thoughts, so the men dress them as they would, and treat them like tokens captured for all to see. It is as different from the normal fleet activity as is possible to get. That," she finished, a hand on a trembling blue knee, "is why you agreed to go in, rather than sending in another, isn't it?"

"We need to be there, and I need to see these so-called anarchists. Second hand intelligence is not sufficient. But," she paused, finally looking Waltz in the eye a bit bashfully, "I was so hoping that the staff idea would work, going in as a waitress, or serving drinks, something faceless and unnoticed, so that was…"

"What you got used to?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," Mitth'ryl said ruefully. "How foolish of me; we both know that plans change and must be adapted to." She looked at the dress and then back at the young woman sitting beside her. "Let's at least try it on, and get this over with. Then I can warm up in several layers of bantha wool."

After a few more checks and slipping two hooks back into place, Waltz slowly took the dress off the hanger. "How does one…ah! It's a side zipper, sneaky thing." She gathered it up, and stood on the stool behind Mitth'ryl. "Don't touch," she snapped, startling the Chiss's hand away from the edge of the bodice. Slowly, mindful of the hair sticks, she slipped the dress down into place.

"Lift your arms, please." Finding the small zipper, she pulled the dress slits closed, fumbling the two tiny hook and eyes. "There, now, turn around and we can see…" The front hadn't landed as well as she'd hoped. She pulled a few bits here and there. "Turn around again," she asked, watching the top hem for dips or sags. There were two spots that could use a tuck in. "Now, a little more to the right. Yes, bit more – leave it!" she snapped, smacking the blue fingers that tried to pull it up to cover the ample cleavage.

Mitth'ryl hissed a bit, surprised at the sting. "It's not supposed to be that low."

"Is the support garment showing?"

"No," she muttered reluctantly.

"Then it isn't too low. Let's get you into the shoes, so I can make sure the lower hem is straight." Waltz marched over to the shoe box, grabbed a pair of heels and crouched in front of her. "You'll need a pedicure, by the way. Make-up is making the correct shade to match the dress. In we go!"

Mitth'ryl only lost her balance once as they fitted the second shoe on, and only a little. The extra height seemed to make the dress even shorter. When Waltz asked her to twirl, she thought the skirts would float past her waist. Apparently that was supposed to happen as well, as Waltz nodded, and pronounced the fit adequate. "Then I can get this off?" she asked, hopeful despite the rest of the unused boxes.

Waltz gave her a once over. "In a minute. We can do the makeup tests another time, when you're dressed normally," she added as the Chiss's face fell subtly. "Just one last thing, okay?"

"Like I have a choice," Mitth'ryl muttered, turning around at the other's finger twirl. "You're the only one that can get me out of this thing."

"Just a minute, not an hour." Waltz pulled the hair sticks out, quick brushing the locks into long ringlets. Pulling the thin head band from another box, she slipped it into the curls, using it to keep the front locks from falling forward. "Now, turn around, and see what you look like." With that, she tapped the mirror back on, and stood back.

Mitth'ryl took a very long look, taking in every detail, unable to say anything, eyes wide.

"I think you look beautiful," Waltz announced into the silence.

"I look like a Bounty Bunny."

"Well, that too."

* * *

The datapad lay tipped upwards against the vase on Eri'dantae's desk, yellow standing light blinking slowly. Taking it with him to his favourite chair, he settled lopsided into it and flicked the 'pad on.

_Dear Mr. and Cmdr. Pieters,_

_I wish to extend my deepest condolences on the loss of your son. Lt. Pieters was a fine young officer who I feel could have gone much higher in rank and responsibility had not fate decided to take him too soon from us. _

_No doubt Cpt. Harburge has supplied you with some of the details of his death, but I felt that you deserved to know the exact reason your son was not on post at the time. In the course of the battle against an invading race, the bridge was dealt a crippling blow. The aftermath showed that I was critically injured, with no time to wait for our over-reached medical teams to arrive. Your son gallantly offered to physically carry his CO from the wreckage toward safety. Only when he was assured of my safety did he request to return to return to his post. He could have stayed in the safety of the medical sections, but his innate sense of duty, no doubt instilled by you both throughout his youth, would not permit dereliction of duty. _

_Without his aid, I would not have survived, and I will be eternally grateful for his sacrifice. _

_With deepest sympathies, _

_Admiral Mitth'ryl_

Eri'dantae finished the letter and looked up. Leaning on the door to his bedroom she looked washed out, but a lot more at peace. "Well done, my dear."

She nodded and curled up beside him on the sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 7****: **_**And I need just a little more silence / And I need just a little more time**_

The evening was coming much too soon. Between the make-up appointment and the hair styling, which she was trying to forget, the last minute briefing via comlink during the manicure and pedicure, and every possible interruption that needed her immediate attention, the day had been flying past even her expert time-sense. She had planned for a few minutes to gather her wits, and to put herself in the right frame of mind for the operation. She had hoped for a few peaceful moments with those pieces of art that shed the most light on the situation at hand, just to ground the nervous rolling in her stomach.

It was not to be, she realized, as Waltz, dressed appropriately as a servant of the hotel that was to be the home base of the operation, brought in the dress and all the other pieces of the night's outfit to her rooms. Eri'dantae, along with several other security officers, were wandering around the building and area in their guises of body guards and hired thugs. It was a pity, she thought as they got the last of the dress in place and began to touch up makeup and hair, that Fernic's invitation did not allow bodyguards into the room. Having the presence of at least one trusted ally would have made this more bearable.

As it was, she was standing in front of the mirror, watching as this glittery, half-dressed young fluffy bounty hunter follower was having her cheeks blushed just a bit with a fine powder. Waltz pronounced her done and started to pack everything back into the large makeup case. "I'll be back in a minute," she called as she let herself out.

Waltz dropped the case off in her own rooms, and then dashed down the large central stairs to the main lobby below. Several Chiss were already mingling there, waiting for the ballroom to be opened and the evening's gathering to start. She could just hear the warm-up notes from the live band that was to be playing for the dancers. Along one wall, Fernic and several aides were all huddled together, no doubt discussing something important.

Eri'dantae, however, was leaning against the banister leading to the outside gardens, looking faintly menacing in his bodyguard outfit. Keeping a wary eye on all the exits at once, he spotted Waltz several feet away. "What are you doing down here?" he hissed when she got closer.

"I need you to go and talk with her; she is making herself nervous every time she looks in the mirror. Go up there, tell her she's beautiful and talented and whatever else to shake her out of the mood she's in, and get her ready to come down." She grabbed his vest as he passed. "Don't smudge the make-up, or I'll paint you up like a spice princess."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, making his way to the back elevators. After two levels, and one double back on the stairs, he slipped into her rooms. He made his silent way into the living room, turned into the bedroom –

--and stopped, mouth open slightly.

The silver of the dress shone against the silver highlights in her hair and the random crystals pins that held the curls at the back of her head, trailing down her back. The back of the dress dipped to just below the shoulder blade, with twin pleats fastening off-center at her hips. The rest of the dress flowed to just above her knees, leaving plenty of pale blue leg for his eyes to feast on. The high heels stretched them out even farther, delicately small feet caught by a thin, bejewelled ankle fastener and toe straps.

Just over her shoulder, he could see her frown, biting one lip absently. Slowly, he came up behind her, eyes roving over her reflection as it became clear to his wandering eye. The low front drew the eye immediately to the beginning swell of her breasts, rising and falling with her shallow breathing. The silver pleats wrapped under each breast, and just over the left, allowing the floating layers to flow down to her knees in several diaphanous waves. It left everything to the imagination, and stirred several images immediately to mind. One hand, with elongated silver nails done to a fine sheen, tried to tuck a loose ringlet from her face behind an ear. He reached around her shoulders and brought both hands into his.

"And so, beguiled by her charms, the prince fell to the enchantress's spell," he whispered in her ear, purring the words. He turned her around to face her, and marvelled at the gentle lines of eye shadow that made her look so young and naïve. "You are beautiful, my love," he whispered.

"Are the guests assembled downstairs already?" she asked, voice taut. She tried to pull her hands out his gentle grip, but he wouldn't allow her to, instead raising them to kiss the trembling knuckles.

"Ready and waiting for the most elegant lady to grace their presence," he purred.

"The 'family' will come at the end of the party, to make sure I get home alright?' she stated flatly.

"Yes, they are all ready and waiting to pounce on your new boyfriend. 'Father' won't be happy if you stay out past your bedtime," he teased, slowly walking around her once, eyes taking everything in. He swallowed, licking dry lips and repeating Waltz's threat in his mind. "Then again, as your 'father,' I certainly don't want to let you out of my sight in that temptation," he admitted, voice deepening despite his control.

"I'll make sure to check in," she said drily.

He continued to layer on the compliments, picking her hands up again as they tried to wander to her hair again. "I certainly hope so. I'd hate to have to beat the males off your dance card to get you home, safe and sound." _Perhaps_, he thought, _it's only a bit of nerves just before the mission, classic cold feet, as it were_.

"Eri'dantae," she growled, fully aware of what he was doing. She pulled her hands out of his and stalked across the room…. Only, the dress made stalking hard to do, and the high-heels made her tipsy on the carpet.

"Mitth'ryl," he drawled, smirking. "You will stun every male in the room with your gorgeousness. The leaders of this little anarchist group will never guess at the brilliance under this coy face."

"Enough!" she snarled, whirling back to him, delicate fingers clenched tightly together. "This mission isn't a romp in the park, Eri'dantae!"

"Despite the lace and veils?"

She was shaking with bent-up emotion. "There are lives at stake on the success of the mission," she snarled.

"As opposed to the Daisy Missions that you've been on recently?" he asked sardonically.

"Enough!" she snapped, stalking away from him, arms folded tightly against her dress. She was shaking, chills from the air conditioning raking up her bare arms.

Eri'dantae, about to continue, snapped his mouth shut, startled. The room wasn't that cold. "Mitth'ryl?"

"This mission is as legitimate and necessary as blowing up a fleet of ships," she said, ignoring him, voice as tight as he'd ever heard it.

"Mitth'ryl?" He moved up behind her slowly, hands carefully taking her shoulders and turning her around. Her face was twisted in anger and … could that be fear? "What is it, Mitth'ryl?"

"I will not fail in this mission. I c-can't let," she swallowed, then tried again. "I can't let a little thing like appearance hold me back … from finishing this." She tried to pull away from Eri'dantae's hands, eyes downcast.

"What has you so spooked?" he said, keeping a hold of her.

"I'm--"

"Not fine. You're shaking. Now, tell me what it is, and maybe I can do something about it." He pushed her toward the only chair in the room.

"There is nothing you can do," she said, resisting his urging. "You won't be … you can't be in the room with me."

Eri'dantae frowned. "Your nervous about the meeting?" he prodded.

"No."

Eri'dantae cast around, certain he was missing something. "Then why do you want me in the meeting? I'm hardly a good conversationalist, and you pointed out that I'm not allowed to skin other Chiss."

"And I can't tonight, either," she whispered, sinking down onto the chair.

"But, my dear," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "with you, looks can kill. I've seen your glares across the bridge."

"And what if a look isn't enough?" she whispered, aghast. "What if they want or demand more, Eri'dantae? How far do I go for this mission? What do I do when they go farther than I am willing to go? Or when where I would stop isn't in character enough for the little flop that Sies'lyn is?" Her eyes were wide, and he could almost see the tip of tears in the corners.

Eri'dantae wished, for one long moment, he had never had to drive home what some males were like in her early training, or that he had found some other way, some other argument to use. Obviously, she had been dwelling on it, long and hard. He knelt in front of her, taking the long fingers in his hands. "Well, other than my breaking every bone in their body, I'm sure you know a few subtle tricks."

She pulled one hand out of his grip. Delicate fingers pulled slightly at the fabric of the dress, the long veils that flowed from the gather point. "I can't do much to stop them, now can I? Not and stay in character. But I can't bungle this operation, I just can't," she whispered, voice rough.

"You won't," he promised. "But, you are armed, despite what it looks like."

She sniffled. "Two thin daggers in the seams of the corset, neither of which I can get at unless this dress goes off first." She started to shake in her seat.

"You forget the pins with points in your hair. Poke someone hard enough in the ear or eye socket with those and you can forget ever having a quiet drink with them again."

"Yes," she murmured, trying to pull herself back together. "Provided that they aren't detected in the metal scan."

"They won't be," he said. "Remember, our guys got to the recognition software before it was installed." He pulled her to her feet, and stood square in front of her. "But there are other methods, you know, less bloody methods of taking someone down." He raised his hand to just before her face, palm almost facing her. "Take my hand."

She looked at him, eyes wide. When he refused to move, she swallowed and slowly put her hand on his.

"Very good," he said. "Now, drop me."

She blinked once, eyes closing very slowly and reopening just as slowly.

"You know how," he coached her, waiting for that moment when she would step past her own fear. It was fear that would get one killed on the battle field or halt your tongue when issuing orders on the bridge. It took a little longer than he hoped, but not as long as he expected. Nodding to herself, she slipped her fingers around his hand, and gently pushed down on one certain spot.

He didn't remember how much that hurt; she certainly reminded him as his knees gave out and he dropped in front of her. His gasp wasn't forced or faked, and the smallest of whimpers escaped him before she blinked and released him, a small smile slipping onto her face.

"Thanks," he gasped, dropping a little farther onto his hands and knees, careful of the wounded one.

She stepped back, looking down at him. "I'd…I'd forgotten about that one."

"I noticed," he managed, standing back up. "Now, just remember your training, and you will be fine out there. But, just in case that particular trick doesn't get the point across, you can always show them this one." Eri'dantae paused, and from a deep pocket pulled out a slender stiletto, perhaps all of five inches long. The tiny blade, with polished shine, fit completely in his open hand. The hilt was narrow, with barely any crossbar. The most interesting part to her eye was the pommel.

A half pearl the width of her thumb, expertly polished, was set in a nest of woven filigree, silver and gold intermixed. It was delicate and feminine, completely at odds with the assassin's blade attached to it. On the back of the piece, a hinge had been placed, opening just past ninety degrees. The pearled front could then be pulled forward…

"Intriguing," she said, head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowing in thought, the fears of a moment ago fading against her rising interest in the weapon. "Although, I am not quite sure what purpose it would serve."

Eri'dantae smiled wolfishly. Taking the little blade, he gently parted the dress from the firm bodice underneath, and slipped the blade between them. Closing the pearled hinge around the edging of the dress, the blade was completely hidden, appearing only as a little decoration on the dress. "Call this a little insurance," he whispered in her ear, fingers trailing up to cup her chin, "just in case."

"Just in case," she agreed, melting a little against him as he left one kiss on her cheek, before his other hand, resting on the small of her back, pushed her toward the door.

* * *

AN: I am sure that Thrawn had his first-mission jitters too. Everyone does. And Mitth'ryl, of course, believed that as he had gone through them, she shouldn't have to, too.


	8. Chapter 8

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 8:**_**To have me, to hold me / A token for all to see / Captured to be yours alone**_

Mitth'ryl leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed in thought. One hand held a fluted glass gently, playing against the lights sparkling on the fine glass. The cool draft from the open window was cooling the flush in her cheeks quickly. Despite the lack of concealing clothing she was wearing, there had been numerous times when she felt like she was melting under the makeup and lights.

The corner was dark, the window looked to the equally dark garden; no one should have noticed her. But the combination of the silver dress, the sparkles in her hair and her lack of interest in companionship seem to call out to the nearest male. A particularly large specimen ambled over to her, a leer just hidden behind what he no doubt thought was a 'come hither' look.

"You look all alone, miss," he said, leaning one arm above her head.

"I do, do I?" she answered quietly, taking a measured sip of the sparkling water.

"Lovely thing like you, you need someone big and strong, make sure you're never lonely," he said, taking her almost-empty glass and dropping it on the tray of a passing waiter.

"I'm with someone," she said, giving him one chance.

"I'm sure I can show you a better time," he answered, one hand landing on her face, trying to caress her cheek, "somewhere more private-like."

_I'm sure you'd try,_ she thought, leaning just enough into his touch for him to ignore the hand that she brought up to his. Fingers finding the right spot on the joint, she pressed down sharply.

The brute gasped, dropping down to his knees from the pain shooting down his arm from the pressure point she had found. She kept at it for a few seconds more, until more than a few whimpers escaped him.

"I'm sure you could," she murmured, letting go and stepping around him. "But I'm already taken."

Stepping back amongst the crowd, she finally found Fernic and slipped one hand onto his arm.

"You should behave yourself," Fernic hissed quietly, keeping a smile on his face as they mingled with the dancers on the floor.

She sniffed. "I have been, Ambassador. I could have collapsed his windpipe."

"Dropping a bodyguard to his knees isn't behaving in my eyes," he retorted.

"She's feisty, is all," a voice boomed from behind them, laughing.

A beefy arm landed across Mitth'ryl's shoulders. The strong cologne of the Chiss washed over her at the same time, drawing a faint wince from her.

Fernic's face betrayed his nervousness. "Lord Tha'nalot, a pleasure," he managed, voice tight and stuttering slightly.

"Are you going to introduce me to your little firecracker, boy?" said Tha'nalot, keeping a tight hold on her shoulders.

"My lord, my I introduce my date for the evening, Sies'lyn. She's a member of my clerical staff," Fernic said, following the script perfectly.

"This little thing spends her day behind a desk, filing and looking at a screen? She looks much too talented for such menial work."

Mitth'ryl forced a giggle past her first reaction of an eye roll. "You think so?" she asked coyly, keeping her gaze down.

"I do, indeed, little sweetling." Turning to Fernic, he said, "You don't mind if I take her on a turn on the floor," not making it a question.

Fernic swallowed and nodded, but Tha'nalot had already parted the crowd, swinging Mitth'ryl into a slow waltz. She kept quiet as he talked about himself, his big adventures that were probable only a tenth true, keeping up with her gasps and little exclamations of delight. Forcing her mind purely on the task at hand, she tried to ignore where all his hands went when he dipped her on the final pass.

His smile was positively predatory by the second close dance, when a tap at his shoulder broke into the stream of innuendos and flattery. A young server held a tray out, with a folded note on it.

Tha'nalot plucked the note up, flipping it open out of her line of sight. "You waiting for a tip?" he growled at the waiter, who promptly vanished. "Love, I've got to deal with this for a few minutes."

"Oh," she pouted, fiddling with her dress.

"Now, now, don't look like that, sweetling," he said, lifting her chin up. "I'm sure Fernil-boy can swing you around the floor a few times while I'm gone."

"I guess," she said, sniffing slightly. "But, all he does is talk and talk about his boring job as an ambassador. Not like you," she added, looking through long lashes at the towering Chiss. "You have real power; people have to do what you say and what you want. Whatever you want," she finished, smiling up at him.

He smirked, chest puffing out. "You're right, love. I say jump, they have to go as high as I want them to, don't they. This is going to be pretty boring, sweetling, and you won't understand much."

_Wanna bet?_ she thought, but she kept the thought from her face. "You'll tell me all the juicy bits later?" she pleaded, leaning closer. "All the parts where you were brilliant and smart and powerful?"

"Well," he yielded finally, running one finger down her cheek, "I suppose you could come along. So long as you stay quiet as a mouse."

She giggled, bouncing a little. "Oh, my lord, thank you! I promise, not a peep!"

"Not yet," he purred in her ear, planting one misaimed kiss on her cheek, leading her away into the back rooms of the hall. "My dear, tonight you get to see history in the making, something that boy can never show you."

"Not like you can," Mitth'ryl answered, hanging off his arm. _That will be a change, alright. Usually I'm the one that makes history. And you'll __be__ history._


	9. Chapter 9

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Chapter 9****: **_**When the future's architectured by carnival of idiots on show, you'd better lie low**_

The room Tha'nalot led her into was tasteful and refined, completely at odds with the clientele of the evening's doings. There were a few paintings of classical figures, most from mythology of the Chiss people. One or two she recognized from a distance: Sie'lan and L'onak, the star-crossed lovers and the painter Gy'nala, ensnared in his own work. Classical figures that no one would pay attention to for more than a second.

The room was dominated by a large table, set with various drinks and food-stuff for this meeting. One waiter was just placing one large tray of fruit down, taking the cover off without flourish and scurrying from the room. Parck's intelligence wasn't wrong, then. If he had been, she had planned to take great pleasure in stuffing him into this dress.

Only one group of Chiss was before them, talking quietly amongst themselves. As Tha'nalot started to approach the table, the group split to reveal one tall Chiss dressed in dark robes and business attire. He was, she noted, the epitome of Chiss beauty. He was taller than Eri'dantae but just as subtly muscled, his lean face that showed nothing of his emotions, and his hair was brushed back to reveal a classic widow's peak. All together, women had, no doubt, fallen hard for that physique.

"Lord Tha'newlis," her escort said, suddenly subdued. His bow was deep, hiding his scowl from the Chiss under-lord.

"Nephew, who is it that graces your arm this evening?"

"The girl is …Sies'lynx…. Sies'loks, something like that," Tha'nalot muttered begrudgingly.

"Sies'lyn, my lord," Mitth'ryl supplied, dropping into a small curtsy.

Tha'nalot glared at her from behind his uncle's back as Tha'newlis took a step forward and bowed as a noble to a lady of high standing. She smiled shyly at the attention, as any flop would have done so, not realizing how he mocked her…

"I've been watching you all evening," the leader of the organization said. He straightened, moving her back away from the other guests and his nephew. When they were as far as possible from the other guests, he leaned down to look deeply into her eyes. "Watching you play dumb-bunny all night on that Chaf boy's arm and dance across the floor with my nephew."

"I had no idea that I was worthy of your interest," Mitth'ryl said demurely. _I had no idea that you were even in the room,_ she thought to herself, a small part of her miffed at being unable to spot him. Tha'nalot, ignored, insulted by his uncle in front of the 'dumb-bunny', and finally abandoned with Tha'newlis's bodyguards, left the room, abandoning her in the corner with this creature.

"There is so little that interests me these days; it is quite the individual who will garner even a second thought." He stepped closer to her, his complete attention on her. One arm reached out and leaned against the wall beside her head, while his other hand cupped her chin. "The moment you walked in, I had eyes only for this little mystery in silver."

Lord Tha'newlis raised her chin, locking eyes with her. "You and I both know that you are so much more than you appear. Little bits of fluff and eye shadow don't hide the huntress that you are."

She tried to pull her head away from him, to lower her gaze a little demurely. Surely, of all the idiots in the room, this couldn't be the one to figure it out. Killing him would be in bad form, and bad for the mission, but it would be much worse if word got out of who she was. She raised a hand to her throat, to mimic shock, actually to bring her fingers closer to the pendant that hung heavy on the front of the dress, a welcome weight.

"Pretend all you like with my little nephew, but you have too much spunk to ever be content on the arm of an underling," he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "You need someone who can make you truly alive, and keep you in the levels of society that you deserve to be in. I can lift you to a Queen, beloved, where one such as you belongs. Where that keen mind can help a man to build his empire," he whispered, lips just brushing her earlobe.

"I…," she gasped, as he bit none too gently on her neck. "My lord, I never thought… never believed that that would be…"

"I can _make_ it possible, for a huntress such as you," he purred, kissing the spot where he had bitten her. "I can give you the Ascendancy itself. Imagine sitting at my side in the Halls of our ancestors, ruler of everything that you can see, consort to the one who freed the masses from the aristocracy."

"I can't imagine…"

"Ah, but you can, I see it in you. You will make a fine consort for one such as I," he said, trailing light kisses and love bites down her neck.

_All the madmen in Corellia's Nine Hells, he's besotted!_ It wasn't known if he had taken any mistresses before, but even if he did, the initial infatuation and dulling of his wits was an instrument that she had never planned on, but could never abandon. _Such a perfect weapon you've handed me!_

"My lord, if you believe that one such as I…" she murmured, turning to take in the room in a glance. Most of the key players were in the room now, and she needed to be here at this gathering, not in this love-sick puppy's private yacht while an underling took this meeting.

"I do. I am never wrong about my people." His kisses were starting to travel a little too low for her liking. Thankfully, they were too low for Sies'lyn's as well. Shivering once for effect, she slipped from under his arm, gasping. "My lord, please, not now, not here…" She threw one panicked look at the guests, none of who were paying attention to this darkened corner of the room.

For a moment, she thought she'd played Sies'lyn wrong, that this little bunny wouldn't have objected to being taken in the corner by him, consequences be damned. His face betrayed his anger at being refused, for however long. A moment passed, and the anger faded into respect for this little bit of intelligent fluff, one that knew when to play, and when to stop and focus on what was necessary; one that implied that _later_ was a distinct possibility.

He nodded, slipping one arm around her waist. "A fine huntress," he repeated, "always looking at the prey, never at the shadows."

"I try, my lord." She let his hand wander where it would as they walked over to the large table set with drinks, where almost everyone of importance had settled down to the business at hand. Tha'newlis steered her over to the head of the table, and settled himself down in the chair with graceless agility.

"Shall we get to business, gentlemen?" he said abruptly, abandoning all pretence. "I have something that you all want, and you have something that I might be interested in." He pulled Mitth'ryl closer to his chair, letting one hand wander along the back of the dress, as if searching for the clasps.

"Lord Tha'newlis, with all respect, you will be highly interested in the deal we have to offer you," one elder Chiss said civilly. Leaning forward slightly, he slid a datapad across the table to Tha'newlis, who made no move to pick it up. "In exchange for passage through the Chaf controlled systems, we would be willing to pay nearly seventy percent of market value for the military hardware that you have assured us that you have."

"Seventy percent?" Tha'newlis said calmly, his eyes narrowing slightly; Mitth'ryl was the only one closest enough to see that the displeasure on his face was mixed with mockery. "That will not even cover my operating costs to get these fine weapons into Chiss space; hardly a deal that I would be willing to ask my people to accept."

"New technology in the hands of our special forces will cause certain questions to be asked," another yellow-clad Chiss said, sitting two seats down from the first speaker. She tentatively identified him as Chaf'iggi'nasci, a highly placed youngster on the less than honourable list of the House. If she recalled correctly, he was a junior attaché to the Security Council.

"Of which I was assured that the most honourable Fifth House was able to give satisfactory answers," Tha'newlis countered, still not touching the datapad.

"We can," the elder Chiss said calmly, but with a bit of hesitation that Tha'newlis did not miss.

"Well, then I am sure that another Family will be more than happy to receive the advanced weaponry of the Galactic Empire _and_ the response weaponry that their enemy the Republic created, for a price that will, at the very least, cover my operating expenses." Tha'newlis slowly stood up. "A pleasure, almost doing business with you."

The sigh came from the other side of the table. "We are prepared to bargain, Lord Tha'newlis," a well-rounded Chiss said.

"Are you, Chaf'err'nisstra? By all means, give me a number that I do not feel compelled to laugh at as a human would."

Chaf'err'nisstra pushed a datapad over to him after keying in an amount. This time Tha'newlis took it, looked at it long and hard before settling down in his chair. With a tug around her waist, Tha'newlis brought Mitth'ryl down hard to settle in his lap, one arm tucked around her waist. She settled on his lap while keeping her face blank of her desire to take a set of dull knives to his hide.

"What do you think, my pet," he said so that room could hear. "Do you think that this could cover all the time and effort my men put into stealing these fine weapons?"

She looked at the display and saw a number that could have retrofitted three of her Star Destroyers. But for the amounts that her intelligence people had found being shipped out here… well, it wouldn't be _her_ first choice. "I suppose it might do, if you only have about a hundred or so," she said, frowning as she trailed a finger across his shoulder. A dangerous game, for how much did an intelligent secretary really know about arms dealing?

"Such a bright little thing, aren't you," he said, his hand trailing under her dress and up her thigh. _There's not enough hot water in the entire Nirauan base,_ she vowed, ignoring the hand. "If only you had such talented people working for you, you'd understand why this amount," he said, typing in a number, "is more appropriate."

After the Chiss looked over the number, he sighed, typed in a new number, and passed it back. This happened several more times before Tha'newlis nodded. "Much better. Chaf'afn'iirgma, I presume that you will have this transferred as per normal."

"Of course, Lord," the elder Chiss said, bowing slightly in his seat.

Tha'newlis, after gently helping Mitth'ryl to her feet, stood and gave a half-bow, half twitch of faint respect. "As always, a pleasure, gentlefolk." He began to steer her from the room, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "A greater pleasure awaits us on my yacht."

_A greater pleasure awaits you on _my_ ship: hanging by your thumbs from the ceiling of my brig,_ she thought to herself, allowing herself the soothing image for a moment. "If my lord can wait just a few moments," she purred, disengaging herself from his arm. "I'll be right back." Slipping past Tha'newlis into the lady's coat room, she quietly retrieved the shrug that went with the dress. Tucked into the seam of the collar, one little light blinked lazily. The standby light glowed a faint orange, showing only a half charge on the comlink hidden in the collar. Enough for one transmission, and a short one at that. That was alright, though, for two words were all that was needed. Fingers in the correct position, she held down hidden cloth covered buttons.

"Sic'em, Voss," she murmured into the voice pick up, chin down. To all appearances, it seemed that she was simply adjusting the fit on the metal clasp.

The softest beep indicated the charge was depleted and message sent. Now the cloak would pass through any scan for electronics, and only a scan for metal contents would show anything, but all would assume it was the clasp.

The folds of the shrug had just settled into place as she slipped from the coatroom, small jax smile firmly in place. Up ahead, several guards of the hotel stood blocking the way back to the private rooms.

"You will drop all weapons," a synthesized voice called out from ahead. "Slowly!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Tha'newlis' voice boomed out. She slowed and finally halted as his voice rang out again. "I have legitimate business with those delegates!"

"You will drop all weapons! Obey, or we will be forced to fire!"

Mitth'ryl, focused on the voices, dimly noted that the younger 'guard' had stepped close. "Ma'am, nothing here to see. You'd best to get back to your chaperone."

"Oh?" She tilted her head, looking closely at him.

"Sweetie, go back to the hall, you don't belong her—" he strangled to a stop, eyes going once over her. "I mean, ma'am, it could be--"

"At ease," she murmured, hiding a smile. "And good work," she added, turning back toward the ball room.

"Ma'am," he saluted smartly.

As she turned down the first corridor, the elder security guard was quietly laughing at his companion's flustered manner. _You're never going to be allowed to forget this, lieutenant,_ she thought, smiling to herself.


	10. Epilogue

Deal Breakers and Queen Makers

By LadyRavena

**Epilogue****: **_**Bring out the best and the worst you can be**_

Mitth'ryl was staring at one of the second floor's painting when Parck, with the admiral's long coat slung over one arm, finally found her. Head tilted to our side, hands behind her back, she looked a little like a young slip of a girl at her first prom. The painting was of a female Chiss from ancient mythology, with an avian on one outstretched hand, a sword braced against an ancient hardwood in the other. Parck wasn't sure which myth was being represented, but it was a beautiful piece.

"I've never really been able to understand the choices in hotel artwork," she said, not turning from the piece. "Almost every piece in this hallway contradicts each other and sends completely different subliminal messages to the viewer. There is no theme, obvious or otherwise, no colour scheme is followed, and half of the pieces contradict the one next to it. How very disconcerting."

"Perhaps they were simply picked for the prettiness of each painting by a dozen different designers," Parck suggested, coming to stand next to her.

"A carnival of idiots pick these paintings for hotels and offices."

Parck laughed softly. "It can't be all that bad."

"Oh, really? I distinctly recall one such painting that was originally supposed to be in the Grand Admiral's offices. The entire painting seemed pastoral and benign, until he studied it closer to reveal the artist's desire for mass genocide."

Parck went to speak, paused and frowned. "That farm scene? Mass genocide?"

She nodded. "Didn't you wonder why the riverbed was littered with small teeth and pieces of bone? Tradition pieces of bounty hunters from that culture."

Parck shuddered, and then shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. "I brought the final reports on the engagement with Tha'newlis's fleet. You'll also be pleased to know that our security forces caught Lord Tha'newlis before he even boarded his private yacht."

"Damages?"

Voss shook his head. "Minimal. We lost one clawcraft, but the pilot ejected in time, and was collected without harm. Shields took the rest of the volleys."

"Excellent," she said, turning from the painting and finally facing him.

One look at her face brought a frown to Voss's. "You look exhausted," he said, holding up the admiral's coat.

"Why, thank you. What a kind thing to point out," she groused, allowing the heavy coat to land on her shoulders. "It amazes me to this day that you aren't plagued by women beating down your door for such beautiful words."

Parck rolled his eyes. "I meant that--"

She raised a hand and started walking toward the large staircase. "I know, Voss," she said a bit more warmly. "It has simply been a very long day." After a moment, he joined her, shortening his strides to match her dress-hampered ones. "The full briefing will be tomorrow as planned, I trust?"

"I see no reason to change that. A sketch briefing on the way back to base will do for tonight."

She nodded, taking extra care on the thick carpeting on the stairs. "I trust all of our operatives returned safely?"

"All accounted for," Voss confirmed, glancing once at the datapad. "Eri'dantae is waiting for you at the shuttle outside, and our waiters have 'gone home' and subsequently been picked up."

Clearing the carpeted stairwell, she felt balanced enough to stretch her legs out. The grand entrance hall was empty save for two actual hotel guards, standing tall on either side of the doors. Nodding good evening to both, the pair walked through the doors and into the night air.

Two massive _Lambda_-class shuttles stood awash in light from the under lights, both of which had the boarding ramps down. Stormtroopers from the 501st legion stood guard over the far shuttle, where several of the higher-level guests were being escorted inside, cuffed and angry. Another trooper stepped forward, no doubt to escort her and Parck to their own shuttle.

"The last of the prisoners is being loaded now, Admiral. We will be leaving shortly."

"Very good, trooper," she murmured, eyes focused on the last prisoner who was surrounded by four of her finest troops.

Lord Tha'newlis, haughty even in captivity, strode toward the shuttle, eyes roaming the grounds in distain… until they reached her. His eyes took in the lack of guard, or bindings, and the presence of the admiral's coat, and reached the most logical, correct conclusion. Mitth'ryl felt her spine stiffening, straightening her form into military precision, her chin rising. His eyes flashed at her, and uncharacteristic emotion shone on his face, highlighted by the stark light of the shuttles. Anger at being played, betrayal of one that he planned to trust, disgust that he would allow a pretty face to turn his head, and half a dozen other emotions that she couldn't hope to identify at this distance took their turns. Finally, though, an unexpected expression settled on his face. With a dip of his head, his face twisted into an ironic smile, he spoke one sentence before being escorted into the shuttle. Even across the landing area, she could read what he had said:

"Already a Queen."

She smiled to herself as she stepped into her own shuttle. "Pilot," she said, settling down in her seat, "take us up."

_**The End.**_

_**

* * *

Thank you all for reading, and reviews are always welcome. **_

Questions are answered as promptly as possible._**  
**_


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